


Voldemort's Chosen One, Part 1

by severusvonstiltskin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, F/F, F/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 64,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severusvonstiltskin/pseuds/severusvonstiltskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chosen. Chosen to be a slave. Chosen to have the Dark Lord's child. Chosen to never have a life beyond what the Dark Lord commands. </p><p>Voldemort fears Harry will discover his Horcrux magic. So of course, he has a backup plan. Charlotte Rodgers is this backup plan.</p><p>Having been born to a woman just prior to her imprisonment in Azkaban, Charlotte has never known her parents. But she had been chosen by Voldemort to bear him a child in hopes that he can implement more of the Dark Arts to come back through this child. When Voldemort returns, Charlotte is sent to Hogwarts to be protected by none other than Severus Snape, the only Death Eater inside the castle walls, while awaiting the proper time to have the child.</p><p>But Charlotte will do anything to escape her fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving my fic a chance!

The clock counts down on the ticking time bomb that is my life. Each moment draws me nearer to my fate, and all this time, when I’ve been _free_ , has been nothing more than illusion. There was a moment when the clock had stopped, when the sand in the hourglass had defied gravity, but this was only me deceiving myself. Destruction waits for me, despite my efforts to thwart it. It’s lurking around the corner, hiding in my shadow, whispering over my body with that familiar chill.

And it’s just up the stairs to my left.

Losing my wand in a battle three hours ago, being captured by a demon named Lucius Malfoy, and having my bruised body thrown into a magic-muffling cellar has never been on my “to do list.” Yet here I am, surrounded by stone and near perfect darkness, waiting for the moment that Lucifer himself comes for me.

So I guess now would be the opportune time to tell you what little I know about myself – that way _someone_ can know who I am if these bloody Death Eaters torture me to insanity. From what I’ve read over the years, they’re not afraid to do such atrocities. Three of them are already serving life sentences in Azkaban for such deeds.

My name is Charlotte Rodgers. Less than two years after I was born, my mother was thrown into Azkaban. No one has ever found it worth their time to tell me why, nor have they seen fit to tell me where the hell my father disappeared to. Apparently, my dearest mother died just a few years after that. If the stories of Azkaban are true, if the Dementors are truly as evil and ruthless and heartless as people say, part of me is rather glad that she died. The other part…not so much. That woman knew what she was doing when she went against the Ministry of Magic; she knew what she was risking. And she did it anyways, which left me as an orphan. I hope she suffered.

She died believing I was dead, and my father probably believes that as well.

For a short time, my guardian angel was watching out for me and gave me a home, and even though it was not the most loving, anything is better than the orphanage. However, me being such a young child with such great needs, my great-uncle, my mother’s uncle, could only take care of me for a few short months before dropping me off at the orphanage and leaving me there, claiming that he did not have what it took to raise a child. So he, too, abandoned me as my mother and father did. I was not even two years of age. It was there at the orphanage that I made my home for almost nine years.

I’m fifteen now and have been on the run for roughly five years.

Now, you might be asking why I’ve been running. It’s not for petty reasons, I assure you. No, I am running because, as a baby, Voldemort chose me to bear his child so he could come back through it, just in case his other plan fell through. (I’m not sure what that other plan is, but it can’t be good if it was designed by the Dark Lord himself.) When I learned what I was to do, I bolted. Lucius Malfoy, as well as a number of Voldemort’s other followers, has been hunting me since then.

Today, Malfoy found me.

I had been in a cave for two months and found myself wanting companionship, longing for a conversation that was not one-sided; rats are not the best of conversationalists. So I went to London. That was my first mistake, I suppose. Malfoy found me almost immediately. The only choice I had was to run, and the closest, safest place I could go was a building that was under construction. And that’s where I ran, but it wasn’t enough to evade him. It didn’t matter that I am faster than him, it didn’t matter that I buffeted his climb to the top of the building with every chance I got. In all honesty, I knew this day would come. Upon reaching the top, my error became all too clear: There was no other way down than to fall.

I enjoy living. But above living, I enjoy freedom, and I was not about to hand myself over to Malfoy so he could take me to Voldemort. I had the choice to jump or fight, and I chose poorly. I chose what I thought would help me live just a tiny bit longer. I turned to fight Malfoy head-on. Battling Death Eaters is something I’ve done many times before, and usually I am able to hold my own long enough to escape, but time was against me and allowed Malfoy to get the upper hand. Within seconds, my ten-inch walnut wand was expelled from my hand and was flying to the ground below.

I was left with no other choice.

I jumped from the building, a free fall to my death, which I believe is better than living to face having Lord Voldemort’s child. Instead of dying, I woke up in Malfoy Manor, in this tiny dungeon-like room.

Alas, I guess there is no point in dwelling on what cannot be changed. I need to focus on my present dilemma: This room I am in blocks my ability to use magic.

Malfoy says he has something planned for me. He says that Voldemort is coming to see me.

The cell door creaks, drawing my attention. Narcissa Malfoy stands in the doorway. “Don’t just sit there. Come on,” she demands coldly. Something about her frightens me, and I oblige as politely as my terror allows, stiffly but compliantly. She takes me just up the stairs – I can feel the magic-blocking spell release me. Too bad my wand is still nowhere to be seen and I’m not overly fluent in wandless magic – actually, I have absolutely no idea how to perform wandless magic and have never even tried. Come to think of it, I need to learn for situations like this, not that I’m planning to be in anymore situations like this, but it would be a good skill to learn.

We come to a stop, and I find myself in a larger room, almost like a living room but without the warmth and the inviting spirit. This whole manor is unwelcoming, so I guess I’m not too surprised. There is a man standing by the window, his back to me. My first thought is one of dread. Could this be the Dark Lord, the one who hopes to force me to have his child for his Dark Magic? Something tells me this is not he, and I am once again able to breathe. “Severus,” Narcissa acknowledges him, almost as coldly as she spoke to me. This confirms that the man is not Lord Voldemort. She would never speak to him that way.

“Narcissa,” he replies in the same icy tone she had offered him. His eyes dart to me. “Is this the one?”

“Yes,” Lucius Malfoy answers, walking into the room. The look in his eyes tells me that he has not yet forgiven me for attempting knock him off the building earlier. Slowly, he makes his way behind me and shoves me toward this Severus person. “Be a nice child now. Tell the man who you are.”

“I know who she is,” Severus says as puts his hands behind his back, his black eyes twitching with annoyance. “What I don’t know is why you have brought me here.”

“Isn’t it obvious, Severus?” Lucius questions, his voice degrading. Apparently the Malfoys see themselves above _everyone_ , not just me. “The Dark Lord requires her safety, and the safest place for her would be Hogwarts. Until the time is right, of course. She will be under a watchful eye – your eye. She will not be able to escape as she has done so many times in the past.”

“And I’m supposed to just bring a student into Hogwarts at the age of –” he stops and looks at me. “How old are you?”

“Fif-fifteen,” I say quietly.

“And you expect a new student at the age of fifteen to go unnoticed?” Severus asks.

“Of course not,” Narcissa answers, “we expect you to convince Dumbledore to let it happen.”

“You want me to convince him to endanger the other students?” he asks. It’s quite obvious that this Severus person does not want me at Hogwarts, whatever Hogwarts is. The word “students” gives me an idea of what it might be, but I don’t like the thought of going to a school. I cannot give up my freedom like that right now, not when it will be taken from me later.

“The Dark Lord demands her safety,” Lucius interjects.

Severus raises an eyebrow. “I will attempt this, but I cannot predict what Dumbledore will decide.”

“Succeed, Severus. Do not merely _attempt_ ,” Lucius replies, contempt in every word. “And take her with you,” Malfoy points to me, hatred written on his face, “I’ve had enough of her being in my home.”

Lucius walks toward me. Instinctively, I take a step back, shouting, “Don’t touch me!”

“You insolent girl!” Lucius yells, flicking his wand. My body then lifts off the ground without my consent and blasts through the air – I can only imagine what I look like to the spectators – only to slam against the cold, unrelenting floor, sliding until I come to a stop almost at Severus’s feet. “Disrespect me in my own home again, and –”

“Lucius, enough!” Narcissa commands. Gentle hands take me by the arm and help lift me to my feet. She holds tightly onto my shoulders until I’m once again stable. “Go with Severus.” Her voice is much calmer towards me than it was towards her husband moments before, and I can’t help but wonder if she is a mother.

The Severus man begrudgingly offers me his arm, looking just as uncomfortable with this arrangement as I am. He no more wants me at Hogwarts than I want to go there. When I secure my grip on his arm, we vanish, reappearing in a forest. I know what we are doing; we’re Apparating. I’ve never Apparated with anybody, but I’ve Apparated many times before by myself. Being a Metamorphmagus has its advantage. Did I forget to mention that? Yeah, I’m a Metamorphmagus. I went into the Ministry and took lessons as some poor bloke that never knew what happened to him. I knocked him out and hid his body, took the Apparation Test, passed it, then disappeared again. Changing my appearance is also how I got out of the orphanage. I disguised myself as one of the plumbers and walked right out of that place, never to return.

Now I am in a forest with Severus. Up the hill on which we are now standing rests a large castle with little flames flickering in every window, as if the place is winking and joking with me, as if it is aware that I am staring and is trying its best to make me feel welcome. Despite my adamant hatred of being forced to do things I don't want to, I like this Hogwarts place. It is already much better than Malfoy Manor. So intent on taking in the sight, I do not realize Severus is already walking away from me until he is so far ahead that I have to jog to catch up to him.

God only knows what could be stalking around these trees, ready to eat me or devour me or rip me to shreds. A talon-ed, winged beast could be tramping up just a few feet away from me right now, and I would never know it until it is too late. I quicken my pace to catch up to the black-haired man.

“Hurry,” he snarls at me, not even giving the courtesy of a glance back at me.

“Where are we?” I growl back.

His eyes dart at me before curtly answering, “Hogwarts.”

After a few seconds of debating on whether or not I should delve further into the subject, I decide against my better judgment and ask, “What exactly is Hogwarts?”

Severus sneers at me. “You’ve never heard of it before?” I don’t think I could stand it if he had another reason to look at me like I am a fool, so I avert my eyes. “Hogwarts is the best school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in all of Britain. Though, I don’t know why I am shocked you have not heard of it. After all the trouble you’ve given the Dark Lord and us – his faithful followers – it is no surprise that you should have no knowledge of the magical world, seeing that you so eagerly run from it at any chance you are given.”

My jaw clenches. I know much about the magical world. Just because I run from Lord Voldemort and his followers does not mean I run from magic itself. Diagon Alley had everything I needed in order to teach myself magic, and I seized that opportunity many times. Magic has been the one positive constant in my life since I ran from the orphanage, but I fear that if I snap and tell him this, the Dark Lord will only require my services that much sooner. “Just because I was not raised by wizards does not mean I am ignorant of magic, Mr. Severus,” I decide to say. It felt like the safer option.

“Professor,” Severus replies. “It’s Professor Snape to you, Rodgers.” At least I know his surname now.

“Only if I am forced to stay here at Hogwarts, Severus,” I answer pointedly, unable to stop myself from smirking at the infuriated look on his face. The rest of our walk is uncomfortably silent, Snape nearly six feet ahead of me from that point on. We walk into the large castle and make our way up seven flights of stairs, through countless corridors, and beyond hundreds of rooms. I don’t know how long we continue walking before Snape stops us, but it seems like an eternity. The looming silence is probably to blame. Either way, I don’t understand why we pause in front of a gargoyle. My first thought is that Snape wants to kill me, but I soon realize that this is foolish. Had he truly wanted to kill me, he would have done it while we were alone in the woods, not inside a large castle. Still, I don’t like being by myself with him. He makes me incredibly uneasy.

“Acid Pops,” Snape says to the gargoyle. The gargoyle moves aside to reveal a spiral staircase, and he starts his ascent. I can’t bring myself to dart away from him even though now is my opportunity to try to get away, but I have to know where the stairwell leads and why it was important enough to be kept hidden behind a password-seeking gargoyle.

We get to the top, where a small opening and a door greet us. Snape knocks and shortly after receives an, “Enter,” and I am shocked by the odd room I see once the door is opened. The room is circular with a claw-footed desk. Little noises flutter around the room. Before I even have a chance to completely take in this strange room and fully appreciate it for what it is, my eyes land on the elderly man sitting in the desk. He meets my eyes and smiles through his long white beard, a beard that blends into his equally long white hair. “Severus.” He seems like a jolly person.

“Albus, forgive me for this intrusion,” Snape begins.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Severus,” the man called Albus says. “It is only an intrusion if there is no reason for the visit. And by the looks of that young girl standing next to you, I would say that you have a reason for coming to see me.”

Snape nods. “This is Charlotte Rodgers. The Dark Lord has demanded her safety. He believes it best for her to be here, under my protection.” There is a distinct harshness when he said those last three words. I’m so confused. So this old man knows Snape is a Death Eater? Why would he let him work here? “She has been chosen to bear his child, so he can come back through…” He drifts off. He obviously doesn’t want me to know something, or he doesn’t know himself and expects Albus to know what he is hinting at. Maybe the older man knows what Voldemort is planning. “Rodgers, this is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

The man smiles at me. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I say, though I really don’t know if it’s a pleasure to meet him. What if it’s not a good thing to be acquainted with this man?

“How old are you, Miss Rodgers?” Dumbledore asks me.

“Fifteen,” I say quietly.

“And your parents? Who are they?”

My eyes shift to me feet, “Never met them.”

Dumbledore locks eyes with Snape. “Why has she been brought here? A new student at the age of fifteen is not going to be overlooked.”

“I argued the same thing,” Snape agrees.

“Excuse me,” I say, “but if it’s not too much trouble, sirs, I would much rather one of you do your little magic thing,” I would prefer them to have no knowledge of the magic I have taught myself, “and take me somewhere and leave me. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want to watch after me. Just let me go. I believe it will be better for us all in the end.”

Dumbledore walks to his desk and picks up a raggedy hat. “The Sorting Hat,” he announces. “It will tell us which House you will be staying in.”

They’re forcing me to stay, the bastards. “And I have no choice in the matter?”

“If the Dark Lord wants you for any reason, your choices are forfeited,” Snape answers icily. “You have no choice in the matter.”

I don’t like this Severus Snape. Dumbledore hands me the hat, and I plop it onto my head. “Hmm…” the hat says. I flinch away, having been completely caught off guard. Dumbledore smiles at me light-heartedly; Snape remains expressionless. “Cunning and ambitious,” I’ve never considered myself ambitious, “Slytherin!”

I see Snape clench his teeth together.

Dumbledore removes the hat. “Congratulations,” he says. I look up at Snape, expecting him to congratulate me as well, but he only seems angry. Before I can ask what his problem is, Dumbledore says, “Professor Snape is Head of the Slytherin House,” which answers my unspoken question.

“And as House Leader I expect your full obedience,” Snape adds, his monotone voice really beginning to irk me.

“Severus, if you will please lead her to the Slytherin Dungeon.” The man then turns to me. “The other students are not set to arrive for another fortnight. Your things are where exactly?”

I hadn’t given it much thought honestly, but I don’t want them know where I’ve been hiding. What if I need to go back there? “I haven’t had ‘things’ since I was ten and left the orphanage.”

Dumbledore seems puzzled but only for a second. “Severus, escort her to Diagon Alley.” His voice drops to a hushed whisper, almost too quiet for me to hear, “Stick close to her. Be inconspicuous. If Lord Voldemort has indeed returned, it is safe to assume that he has already gotten as many enemies as he does followers. If any of them find out about her, she will be in grave danger. They will gladly kill her without a second thought. To them, she will be no better than a Death Eater.” Dumbledore flicks his wand, and a piece of parchment appears in the air, which he then hands to Snape. I am no better than a Death Eater. Great. The people I hate most in the world are now the people I will be associated with.

“You know I am willing to do anything for you, Albus, but I do not believe that babysitting was ever part of the deal…” Snape glares at me.

“I would take her myself, but I have to be at the Ministry of Magic early tomorrow morning for the hearing. I have to prepare for it. I wouldn’t put it past the Wizengamot to twist things in their favor. I must be ready for anything.”

Snape nods curtly, and I hear a distinct, resentful noise come out of his mouth that sounds a lot like “Potter.” There is obviously no way of getting out of this now. I silently curse Lucius Malfoy for catching me and Lord Voldemort for choosing me in the first place. “This way, Rodgers,” Snape commands. He leads me out of the castle so we can Apparate to Diagon Alley, Snape having no idea that I have been to this place, have stolen from this place, and have hidden in this place when needed. We step off the castle grounds, and the too familiar feeling of being stuffed into a tube comes over me.

After just a moment, I open my eyes and behold, again, the wonders of Diagon Alley.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte learns a bit about Hogwarts.

“Don’t wander too far off,” Snape snarls at me. To my surprise, he hands me my wand; it’s the same as it was before Lucius expelled it from my hand and over the edge of that blasted building I never should have attempted to use an escape. I hadn’t seen Malfoy retrieve it, and I never thought I’d see it again. Despite how frustrated I now am at the idea of being forced into Hogwarts, I have to be thankful it led me to getting my wand back.

Before I can ask how he got it, Snape thrusts me a bag of gold and the parchment given to him by Dumbledore with the short explanation, “A Hogwarts loan to underprivileged students and the list of supplies you will need while attending this year.” This is the first bit of money not stolen that I have held in my hands in years. I look back up at him, but he is already distancing himself from me. A huge weight removes itself from my shoulders as he fades into the crowd, no doubt trying to stay a reasonable distance away while still “babysitting” me. I tried to let that comment go over my head, but it bothers me. He obviously does not want to watch me, and I doubt I can make it any clearer that I do not want to be watched at Hogwarts. Snape should just let me disappear. It wouldn’t be the first time I escaped from a Death Eater, so I don't understand why it is such a big deal now.

Finally, when the greasy-haired man is far enough away, I take off. I have to find a place to Apparate back to the house to get my things. Periodically glancing back to see where he is, I notice that he has already seen me and is, in fact, still following me. I groan. This is going to be more difficult than I originally imagined. I dash into a shop called “Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions” and weave my way through the people who are already in there.

Snape is standing just outside. I get out of his line of sight and Disapparate from the shop. The same feeling of being forced into a tube comes over me, but just as fast as it came, it leaves, and I open my eyes in the Muggle home I have been using as a refuge – the Muggles went on vacation a week or so ago. I run through the living room and up the stairs that lead to a catwalk overlooking the family room. There are two hallways, one leading to the largest room (probably belonging to the parents) and one leading to two smaller ones (probably belonging to their children). I go to the largest of the rooms. Never having been one to do things halfway when it comes to my personal comfort (because I so rarely get the chance to actually stay in a comfortable place), I had claimed the parents’ room as mine for the duration of my stay.

My things are neatly piled in the corner. I grab my rucksack and begin cramming all of my things into it. It’s not much: some Muggle clothes and one set of robes and some books. When I finally get to my books, I gingerly place them into the bag. These things have kept me sane over the past five years, teaching me much about the magical world I would otherwise have no idea about, and I refuse to let a single one of them sustain damage due to my carelessness. I sling the bag onto my back, but before I can Disapparate, my eyes land on the family’s picture cozily nestled on the mantle above the largest room’s fireplace. They’re so happy, this family. A young son and a precious daughter, both of which have their mother’s blonde hair and their father’s brown eyes.

With a quick wave of my wand and the Summoning Charm, the picture slowly lifts itself off the mantle and floats towards me, gently landing in my hands. A dark hole opens in my heart. This is all I’ve ever wanted: a family. And here is this Muggle family, here is this insignificant family, here is this family who knows they are not important to the rest of the world, and yet they are happy. And here I am, the runaway girl who will have Voldemort’s child, the orphan with no family, the one who stands a chance – according to a Death Eater who thought he was paying me a compliment – to tip the balance of this war against Voldemort for the worst (well, _best_ , according to that same Death Eater), and I’m…nothing. I’m miserable. I’m alone. My world, for the past five years, has consisted of running for my life, begging for mercy from whatever god will listen, and crawling my way from day to day.

_Why did they get this happy life when I am left with nothing but the clothes on my back and a half-empty rucksack?_

The picture slams into my knee, shattering, splitting in half, and I drop it on the floor. They don't deserve their happiness. What have they done for it? _What makes them worthy and not me?_

 With one last resentful look around the room, I Apparate back to Diagon Alley.

I don’t go back to the robe shop but rather to the bookstore “Flourish and Botts.”

I get the books on the list and leave the shop. After nearly half an hour, I have bought everything I need for the upcoming year at Hogwarts. Snape is still standing outside Madam Malkin’s, looking particularly impatient, almost to the point where I believe he might storm in after me and force me out of the shop. I approach him from the side. “I’m ready,” I tell him.

Taken by surprise, he doesn’t speak for a second but looks back inside the robe shop. “Where did you go?” he asks me, sounding much angrier than I thought he would.

“Through the alley,” I answer defensively, “getting the things I need for Hogwarts,” I spit the name of the school out of my mouth like it is a poison, “like I was supposed to.”

Snape looks closely at me for a moment, like he wants to say something, but decides against it. Instead, he says, “Then it is time for us to leave.” And again, acting completely in awe of the idea of Apparation, I take his arm, and we’re gone.

We stop in the forest just beyond Hogwarts. I hoist my rucksack farther onto back. “Why don’t we just Apparate straight into the castle?” I ask him.

“Charms prevent Apparation inside or on the grounds,” Snape answers shortly.

I can’t help but find this strange. I’ve never had any trouble Apparating anywhere before. “Why?” I ask, though I feel as if I already know the answer.

“Protections against Dark Wizards, such as the Dark Lord,” Snape answers just as rudely as he did with my first question.

“Well, then it hasn’t worked, has it?”

Snape steals a glance at me. “How has it not worked?”

“Well, it’s just that you’re here. I know you are a Death Eater. Death Eaters are followers of Voldemort. So, in a way, Lord Voldemort has penetrated into Hogwarts, correct?”

Instead of answering my question, Snape says, “Do not use the Dark Lord’s name.”

“If I’m going to be forced to have his baby, I believe I am entitled to call him whatever I want to call him,” I answer defiantly. Snape doesn’t even reply this time. When we enter Hogwarts, we don’t go up the stairs, the only place I remotely remember. This time, we go down, and with each step into the cold regions of the castle, nausea discomforts me. Voldemort once walked these very halls. The very thought gives me chills, makes me want to run away again. I can't do this, I can't stay here. I need to leave.

It looks like Snape is taking me to the dungeons. Dumbledore said something about the Slytherin Dungeon, I believe. Just my luck that I would have to stay far down in the gut of the castle where escape nearly impossible.

Snape walks over to one of the walls and says something, but I’m too fearful of being trapped in another dungeon to hear him. “The password will change at the beginning of the school year,” he comments.

Now I wish I had been listening to him. “I’m sorry, the what will change?”

“The password, Rodgers,” he says impatiently. “I suggest you pay attention. It will serve you well as you spend your year here. For now it’s ‘Salazar.’” I have no retort for this.

The room we step into glows green, probably from the greenish lamps that are hanging by chains from the stone ceiling or from the lake that is separated from the room by nothing more than glass. The dungeon is under the lake – great, that means escape is not only impossible but completely unreasonable as well. I’m beginning to hate this place more now. I can only assume, from the copious amounts of green and silver furniture scattered around the room, that the Slytherin colors are green and silver.

Under the elaborately carved mantelpiece straight ahead of me, a fire crackles, casting odd shadows around the already sketchy-looking room. I can only imagine the horrors that have taken place in here. There are tables around the edges of the room, probably for the schoolwork I’ll be assigned. Speaking of which, “If I don’t want to be here, I obviously don’t care if I pass or fail,” I tell Snape, “so is it necessary for me to do any of the work that will no doubt be assigned?”

Snape sighs. “Yes, you will have to do all of the work. It is necessary to keep up the look of you being a normal student.”

“Well,” I say, now thoroughly annoyed, “I find myself tired of your company. Where can I go?”

Snape clenches his teeth together, and I revel in the fact that he cannot harm me because the Dark Lord would kill him, or at the very least severely harm him. Snape as the Head of Slytherin House might actually be more entertaining than I originally thought. “Through there,” he points to one of the walls. “Go through there and up the stairs. There are different rooms for each year. You’ll be in your fifth year.” He turns and walks out of the room.

“But this is technically my first year,” I say.

The man does not so much as glance at me before walking away. I go to the wall, and it opens, revealing a passage. There are a few steps that lead to an open circular area with seven doors, each for a different year. I go to the one that, judging by the sign, is for fifth years and step inside. This room is circular as well, with five four-poster beds against the wall and a window looking into the lake between each bed. The same as it was in the common room, green and silver are the main colors of the room, even of the curtains offering privacy over each bed.

I throw my rucksack onto the bed farthest from the door and look around. After having camped out in a number houses (when it was at all possible), always getting the largest room, and having the house to myself, it’s going to take some getting used to sharing a room with five others. Even when I was living in caves, I had the whole place to myself. Now I have to share my living space with four others. The thought itself saddens me. However, I suppose it will still be more comfortable than those caves I’ve lived in before, so, while it might not be as great as I’ve had it for the past few weeks, it’ll be far better the worst I’ve ever had.

I flop down onto the bed, open my rucksack, and remove one of my Transfiguration books to continue practicing, as well as _Hogwarts: A History_ for when I need to break from my studying.

 

I don’t know what time it is when I awaken the next morning, but I quickly learn that it is too late to just now be getting up. As I leave the Slytherin Dungeon and reach ground level, I see the sun high in the sky. There are only two people inside the castle whom I have met: Dumbledore and Snape. I know Dumbledore is gone, something to do with a hearing. And quite frankly, I don’t want to run into Snape. I would prefer to stay as far away from him as possible. So I explore. Toward the entrance of Hogwarts is a large room with four extremely long tables. This must be the Great Hall that I read about in _Hogwarts: A History_ last night. At the end of this room is a table with a large throne-like chair in the center. I’m not overly interested in the room at the moment, so I continue my search.

I am determined to reach one of the highest points of castle, so I can look at the entire grounds of Hogwarts. I want to see Hogwarts in its entirety if I will be staying here for a while. It is sheer luck when I find the West Tower. There are a few owls, leading me to believe that this is the Owlery. A wide smile breaks its way across my face against my will. I can’t imagine what it must be like to fly around, to be free, to be loved and well-cared for. These owls have the perfect life.

One of them flies down toward me and lands on the perch in front of my face. The creature squints its black eyes at me and cocks its head to the side.

“Hello,” I say to it. Though I desire to reach out and touch the bird, it flies away. Envy rushes through my chest. I want to fly, I want to escape this hell. I need to find a way out of this life that does not require me giving up who I am, because who I am is all that I have in this world, and Lord Voldemort will not strip me of the one thing that is mine.

I leave the owls and begin making my way back to the Slytherin Dungeon. There is nowhere else I want to go in this bloody castle. I am becoming too frustrated with everything again, and I think I should just go lie down to cool off. “Who are you?” a voice asks me as I pass the Great Hall again. Horror seizes me, and it becomes difficult to breathe, almost like my lungs have frozen. Trying to calm my breathing, I turn around. Standing before me is a witch with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, and my voice fails me. “I expect an answer when I ask a question.”

Inhaling slowly, I say, “Char-Charlotte Rodgers.” The witch’s skepticism isn’t hidden very well. “And who are you?” the words slip out before I can stop them.

“I am Professor McGonagall. I am the Head of Gryffindor House, and I teach Transfiguration here at Hogwarts,” she says quickly. “What are you doing here?”

I haven't thought of a lie detailed enough to hoodwink a professor at Hogwarts, and I am left speechless, scrambling for anything that can help me answer this woman standing in front of me. Why did I not speak to Dumbledore about this? Why did I not try to get this settled with Snape before telling him to leave me alone?

Before I have a chance to answer, Snape arrives. “My apologies, Professor McGonagall,” he says, not sounding the least bit sincere, “this is a student here by permission of the headmaster. She will be attending Hogwarts this year.”

McGonagall nods. “Has she been Sorted?”

“Slytherin,” he answers. “Fifth year. Her name is Charlotte Rodgers.” I really don’t appreciate them talking about me as if I am not standing right beside them.

McGonagall replies, “I will inform the other faculty, so they are not taken off guard as I was.” Then she turns and makes her way out of the corridor, leaving me with Snape.

He glances at me. “Do not wander around the castle until the other staff members have been informed.” Then he, too, leaves me standing there.

With nothing left to do and no desire to search the rest of the castle in fear that I will stumble across another unsuspecting professor, I head back to the Slytherin common room, already planning on bitterly practicing Transfiguration again. It’s not that practicing Transfiguration bores me – in fact, it soothes me and helps me pass the time. The problem is being trapped in the dungeons of Hogwarts practicing Transfiguration when I should be finding another home to live in, when I should be anywhere but this prison.

Luckily for me, I run into McGonagall again before I reach the dungeons. We briefly have eye contact as we pass each other in one of the corridors. I stop, but she continues walking. I turn and chase her down.

“Professor?” I say.

She turns enough to acknowledge me but doesn’t stop walking. “Yes, Rodgers?”

I can’t help but wonder why the professors refer to the students by their last name. Is it to distance themselves from the students? And if that’s the reason, _why_ are they trying to distance themselves? I ask what I had already been planning on asking, “You said you teach Transfiguration, right?”

“That is correct.” By this time, she has slowed her pace down, making it easier to keep up with her. “I can assume you have been taught at your previous school the dangers, implications, and benefits of Transfiguration?”

“Previous school?” I laugh without thinking. “I’ve never been at a school before!”

McGonagall stops suddenly, immediately causing me to regret my slip-up. “Never been to a school that teaches magic?” she says quietly. “How do you expect to make it anywhere in the Wizarding World having never been taught magic? All those in your year have had four years of lessons behind them.”

I smile. “Oh, I’ve been taught, Professor,” I assure her. “I’ve taught myself magic since I was ten. I think I’ll be able to scrape by.” Her lips become really thin, and I hurry on to ease the tension I feel rising. “But I did want to ask you something about Transfiguration.” She nods, and I take that as a go ahead. “About a month ago, I was – well, starving quite honestly – and there was a huge rock in the cave where I was staying.” (It was one of the few times I had not been able to stay in a Muggle house.) Her eyebrows crease. I have to get through this before she starts questioning me about my life prior to showing up here. “Anyways, I tried transfiguring it into a loaf of bread. It wouldn’t work. Do you know why?”

“Food is one of The Five Principle Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration. The food must already be there for you to transform it. Or you can summon it if you know where it is, but you cannot make food from something that is not. Does that make sense?”

How have I not read this in any of the Transfiguration books I’ve studied? “Yes, Professor,” I answer. “Thank you.” I turn on my heel, knowing full well that McGonagall is watching me, but I cannot muster an ounce of my being to truly care. Being here at Hogwarts, fretting over not being able to escape, is taking its toll on me, and all I currently want to do is lie down for a while. As I leave McGonagall behind, I decide to go to the Great Hall, only to find a small creature cleaning the table. “Hello?” I call to it. “Who – what are you?”

“Dobby is a house-elf,” he says in a high, squeaky voice.

“A house-elf?” I ask. If I remember correctly, they are the servants of wizards. “So, do you have access to the kitchens?”

“Yes, Dobby works all over Hogwarts. Dobby gets paid to work. Dobby is a free elf,” he answers proudly.

I smile at him. “Could you bring me some water? And maybe something to eat?”

“Yes, Dobby will go right away.”

“Wait, wait!” I say quickly. The little house-elf watches me. “Could you, maybe, take it to the Slytherin Dungeon?”

“Dobby will take your food to the Slytherin Dungeon,” he agrees. And with that, the elf disappears with a loud _crack!_ I start toward the dungeons once more, planning to skim through my Transfiguration books to see how I could have missed The Five Principle Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration.

Even though I have more time to relax now because Death Eaters cannot get me here, even though I will apparently always have food and drink when I need it, even though I have more time to lazily study Transfiguration without the fear of someone finding me, I have a feeling that life here at Hogwarts is going to be another level of hell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the professors learn about Charlotte, and she makes a grave mistake.

Dobby appears in the Slytherin Dungeon with a loud _crack!_ “It’s wonderful to see you, Dobby,” I greet him.

“Dobby has brought food,” he announces as he places a sandwich and a glass of water on the nearest table.

“Thank you so much.”

The little house-elf vanishes again.

I take a seat in front of the food and begin eating. While I eat, I flip through my earliest Transfiguration books to see if I skipped over Gamp’s Law or if I simply stole the wrong books. After closing my second book, I decide to give up for the time being. It doesn’t matter if the books fail to mention Gamp’s Law; all that matters is that I know it now.

Part of me wishes I would have asked Dobby where the kitchens are. If all of the house-elves are as agreeable as he is, I wouldn’t mind spending time with them. Unfortunately, I fear that the kitchens are off-limits to students. And regardless of how much I hate it, I am a student.

I pull my wand from my robes and admire it. Walnut, dragon heartstring, 10 inches. During my first entrance to Diagon Alley, when I was ten, the wand chose me. Of course, I had no way of paying for it, so I bolted with it. Ollivander didn’t follow me, probably because there were a lot of people in the shop which would have made it a waste of his time to hunt me down. However, I can't be entirely sure if that’s the reason, but I guess it doesn’t matter much anymore. After a few months, when I had gotten enough to pay for the wand, I took it back to Ollivander and left it on the counter with a note saying “For the wand I stole a few months ago” and left, never to return.

I lift the wand and attempt to conjure another chair. Nothing. Growing up in caves forced me to learn how to transfigure objects, and I’ve been able to do that fairly easily for a while now. Conjuring up something from nothing is a skill that I have yet to learn. Twice before have I managed to conjure something, but I still can't really do it on will. Nevertheless, I try again. Nothing. And again, which leads to more nothing. It’s not until my seventh time trying that I manage to conjure the chair. Regrettably, it is the perfect size for Dobby the house-elf, so I vanish it. Now frustrated even more that I am still struggling with this stupid spell, I turn to something I am certain I can accomplish.

And it just so happens that this spell will offer me a bit of entertainment for the next few minutes. Pointing my wand at the chair beneath me, I shout, “ _Wingardium Leviosa!”_ The chair lifts me into the air shakily, so much so that I have to grab the seat of the chair to stabilize myself. I go higher, trying to reach the ceiling, trying to write a message on it.

Balancing the best I can, I release my hand from the seat and plunge into my robes. As I dip the quill in the ink, I hear someone hiss “ _What are you doing?_ ” so loudly that I lose my concentration, and the next thing I know I am freefalling to the floor and bracing myself for the pain that I know will come once I strike the stone with my body. The ink splashes me in the face, causing me to yelp, and the chair crashes beneath me, jabbing me in the hip with its broken leg. But hey, at least the chair broke its leg and not me, right? Snape looks utterly disgusted with me. “I’ll ask you again, Rodgers. What are you doing?” Of all the people who could have caught me… I almost think I would give my left leg to have it be anyone other than Snape who walked in on me trying to write on the ceiling.

“Well,” I cough, trying to catch my breath as I stand, viciously pressing my palm into my hip to keep back the burning pain, “I am trying to entertain myself, considering I’m trapped in this hellhole called Hogwarts.”

“You should consider it a privilege to be here at Hogwarts,” Snape replies coldly. “Professor Dumbledore has made it the best school of witchcraft and wizardry in –”

“Yeah, all of Britain. I believe you’ve already succeeded in giving me this spiel,” I interject. I finally release my hip, ignoring the fact that I can feel my pulse in it, trying to act as if I am in no pain because I do not want Snape find joy in the fact that I am hurt because he startled me. “What do you want?”

“What were you doing before I walked in? Trying to deface school property?” he snarls back.

“Precisely, and I would have finished had you not interrupted,” I snap at him. “What do you want?”

He sneers. “The headmaster has returned and has ordered a meeting between you and the professors. And for obvious reasons, you are expected to be there. It starts in ten minutes. Go to the headmaster’s office.”

Snape spins around and leaves, his robes billowing behind him. I smile and start following him. “Are you going there now?” I call after him. He refuses to answer. I stay to his right side, far enough so I personally do not feel uncomfortable but close enough to make Snape uneasy. With every step he takes, he gets a little farther away from me and closer to the edge of the corridor, but I follow his lead and try to get closer. This goes on long enough for him to be almost completely shoved against the wall by the time we reach Dumbledore’s office. Snape says, “Acid pops,” to the gargoyle. It opens, and we head up the stairs to the door.

Instead of Dumbledore being alone in his office as he was the first time I entered it, Professor McGonagall is in there too. Beside her stands an extremely short man, and beside him stands another woman. On the other side of the room are a few other people that I suspect are professors as well. I look to Dumbledore. “Miss Rodgers,” he greets me.

“Professor,” I reply.

“Please,” he answers, “have a seat.” I walk to the chair and sit down, suddenly conscious that everyone else in the room is standing. Intense vulnerability is all I feel, but I don’t know why. These people would not hurt me – or, at least, that’s the way they present themselves. I can't imagine that the “best school of witchcraft and wizardry in all of Britain” would allow the professors to harm the students. Dumbledore turns his attention back to the professors in his office. “This is Charlotte Rodgers,” he begins. “She is a student from Durmstrang Institute.” He glances at me, clearly telling me not to oppose this. _What is a “Durmstrang Institute”?_ I steal a look at McGonagall. She doesn’t seem taken by surprise, so I can only assume that Dumbledore has told her at least some of the truth. “She is in danger of Lord Voldemort’s followers, and with Igor Karkaroff missing, her parents believed she would be safer here.”

I look down, twiddling my thumbs, feeling increasingly uncomfortable and fidgety, but don’t speak.

“She has been Sorted into Slytherin. She is fifth year,” he adds.

“Will she be expected to take the O.W.L.s?” McGonagall asks.

“Yes,” Dumbledore answers. “She will be here indefinitely. She will need to accomplish that which is required of all other fifth-year students.”

I shift in the chair. “Excuse me,” I say quietly. I can feel all the eyes that turn to look at me, and heat rises to my face. “What are O.W.L.s?”

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels,” Dumbledore answers kindly. “It tests what you know, and it gives you an idea of what career you should go into.”

And if I don’t want to go into a career? If I want to stay a thief my whole life? Because, let’s face it, when Voldemort takes over, none of those careers will matter anyways. These questions catch in my throat, and I resolve to only nod.

“These will be your professors this year,” Dumbledore tells me. I give a shy smile and a noncommittal glance to each side of the room. Most of them return my feeble attempt at being cordial. Is that a ghost? Is that ghost a professor? _What is this place?_ Dumbledore doesn’t introduce all of them but rather sends them all out of the office, leaving me alone with him. I remain quiet. He breaks the silence a few heartbeats after the door closes. “I need you to tell me a few things.”

I nod silently.

“You can speak,” he says cheerfully.

“Yes, sir,” I reply. I don't want to be here. I want to be in the Slytherin common room – regardless of how I feel about that common room being in the belly of Hogwarts, under the lake. I want to be away from the professors. _I want to be alone_.

“I need you to tell me all you know about your family.”

I squirm, unnerved by this whole arrangement. I hadn’t expected this. “Well,” I say, “my great-uncle took me in when I was just a baby. He kept me for a year then sent me to an orphanage. I’ve never met my parents.” I know a pathetic amount about my family, and I am ashamed each time I have to talk about them. Honestly, I need to know more. I _want_ to know more.

“Do you know where they are now?”

“They’re both dead. My mother was sent to Azkaban and died in there. I believe my father left us. Both of them thought I died when I was close to a year old.”

“How do you know that?” he asks.

“My Uncle – his name was Al or something, maybe Alfred, I didn’t pay much attention to his name when I was told stories about him,” because all I wanted to do during those stories was hunt him down and make him pay for how he abandoned me like that, but I can't say that to Dumbledore, so I continue with, “I was too upset with him and how he gave me up – he gave the orphanage a letter,” and somehow his name had been smudged – almost as if he didn’t want me to know who he was, “that told me everything. Mrs. Stoico, the woman who ran the orphanage, gave it to me when I turned ten. When I found out what I am, I left.”

“And you just walked out the front door? No one tried stopping you?”

I know I should tell him that I’m a Metamorphmagus, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I feel as if that particular part of me is too personal to share with someone I hardly know. “I did it in the night,” I lie. “No one knew about it until the next morning. But by that time, I was already gone.”

Dumbledore’s gaze seems to be piercing into me. “What did the letter from your uncle say?”

“He told me that I was a witch. He said my mother was in Azkaban. He didn’t really mention my father. Er – he told me that both of my parents believe I am dead. They didn’t know he was raising me. He had been disowned by the family. Uh – he told me that after a year with me, he – um – lost the will to care for me. So he got rid of me,” try as I might, there is no hiding the resentment creeping into voice. Even I can hear it. I take a deep breath to calm myself, then push on, “I went looking for him after I left the orphanage, but he was already dead; he died in ’eighty-five.” I clear my throat and wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs. “His house was abandoned. I found another letter addressed to me. In it, he told me that my mother was dead, that she died in Azkaban. He told me what he knew of Voldemort’s plan for me _.” I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry._ “He told me that Lord Voldemort's followers would come looking for me, and to ensure my safety I would need to go to Diagon Alley to get a wand and some books to teach myself how to defend myself using magic.”

“So you’ve been to Diagon Alley more than just with Professor Snape,” he says quietly. It’s not a question or an accusation, just a general statement, but I can still feel the heat rising up my cheeks again.

“Yes, Professor,” I answer. “Uncle Al left me some gold, not much, but enough. He told me to use it sparingly because it’s all I would have for quite a few years. I didn’t know how to manage money. I used it all up books, and resorted to stealing everything else I needed.” Dumbledore gives me a disapproving glance, and I quickly add, “I would come back and leave payment as I came by it, always trying to make up for what I had taken,” though that isn't entirely true because sometimes I simply wanted the money for myself.

“Do you know if your father was a Muggle or a wizard?” he asks me.

“I…I don’t know, sir. I honestly don’t think Rodgers is my real last name, so there’s no way for me to know if he was a wizard or not. I like to think he was…but I’m not sure.” I look away from him.

“When were you born?”

“The twenty-first of November, nineteen seventy-nine,” I say. Dumbledore gets up and goes to one of his shelves and pulls out a rather large book. I can't help but wonder what each of them are and why there are so many. After opening it and examining it for a moment, he takes out his wand and gives it a wave. He then makes a strange noise, tries it again, and after a moment, he puts the book back on the shelf. “What was that?”

“It records the day that any magical child is born, the child’s name, and to whom they are born,” he answers, making his way back to his desk. “You were not in there.”

I don’t know what to think. “Does that mean I’m not supposed to be a witch?”

Dumbledore shakes his head. “You were in there at one point, Miss Rodgers, but you’ve been blotted out, magically, as if you had died right after birth. It is impossible to read it.” He looks straight at me with his piercing blue eyes. “Someone didn’t want the Wizarding World to know that you exist.”

“The only person I can think of would be Voldemort,” I reply quietly. Dumbledore doesn’t respond. He seems deep in concentration. I slowly get up and back out of the room, but he makes no attempt to stop me.

I storm down to the Slytherin Dungeon. Once I get inside, without thinking, I pull out my wand and begin throwing everything around the room, not caring what I break or how much noise I make. Destroying everything makes me feel better, like something else is experiencing the same destruction that I am.

For some reason, even though I dreaded coming here, I thought that being at Hogwarts was going to answer some of my questions. But no, it only gave me more. Who was my father? Who was my mother? Why was name blotted out as if I died? Why didn’t my great-uncle answer these questions? He must have known I would have them! The large black sofa flies upward, smashing against the chandeliers, both crashing down to the floor. What did my mother do to get locked up in Azkaban? Why did my father leave us? Why did Voldemort choose _me_? I’m nothing special. One of the tables splits in half.

My legs give up, just like the rest of me has, and I collapse to my hands and knees in the middle of the room, sobbing. After all I’ve been through, after everything I’ve done, I want peace, but it doesn’t seem like I’ll ever get that. I flip over onto my back and stare up at the stone ceiling. My life will always be in shambles.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? I HEARD A NOISE BUT DIDN’T THINK YOU’D BE DESTROYING HOGWARTS!”

I sit up, and through my watery eyes I can see the unmistakable form of Severus Snape standing in the entrance, obviously enraged. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve drawn my wand and am shouting “ _STUPEFY!_ ”Snape is hit and knocked backward. I jump to my feet and turn to the room and shout “ _Reparo!_ ” The contents of the room fly back together, making it seem as though I had never ruined it. I turn back to Snape. _What have I done?_

I don’t see his wand, so I can’t take it. With nothing left to do, I run. I run in fear of punishment and the idea of pain. And if the house-elves’ food is always as good as that which Dobby brought me, then I’m going to regret being expelled, so I run for the food as well. I reach the top of the stairs when I hear, “RODGERS!” coming from the dungeon. I run faster. I don’t care what it takes, I will not be caught by Severus Snape. I will not be punished before the school year even starts.

I glance back to see the light of the torches casting Snape’s shadow on the stone walls. Before I have a chance to dart into a room or down a corridor, I hear Snape shout, “ _Impedimenta!_ ” My body slams onto the floor and slides a few feet before stopping, my wand slipping from my hand and hurtling nearly six feet in front of me. I try moving forward to reach it, but every move I make is in slow motion. Snape grabs me by the robes at the back of my neck, not caring that he is also painfully yanking my hair, and pulls me to my feet, only to slam me into the wall, his wand in my face, his forearm pressing on my throat. “And just WHAT –” he closes his eyes for a second, then continues, “do you think you’re doing?” His voice is much calmer than I thought it would have been, given the scenario.

“Well,” I croak, trying to pull my neck away from his hand so I can breathe and speak properly. “At the moment…I’m trying…not to die…by asphyxiation.” Snape relaxes his arm just a bit so I can breathe more easily. “Now I’m trying to figure out why you were chasing me and threatening me.” If only I could get my wand and change his memories.

“Don’t get cheeky with me, Rodgers,” he spits. “It’s not in your best interest.”

“Oh, so now you’re worried about my best interest? I thought you’d be more focused on the Dark Lord’s best interest!” I spit back.

Snape takes a step back, releasing me, but leaves his wand pointed at me, his eyes full of nothing but hatred. “Professor Snape!” I hear a familiar voice shout through the hall. I look over and see McGonagall approaching us, clearly shocked. “What are you doing to this student?”

“Teaching her a lesson,” Snape replies, “about how to respect authority.”

“We don’t punish like that, Severus. You know this.” McGonagall doesn’t sound angry, but rather completely awestruck to find a professor threatening a student at wandpoint. “What could she have possibly done?”

“Stunned me,” he says bitterly, lowering his wand.

Now McGonagall angrily turns to me, expecting me to offer a reason for why I would have done such a thing. I have to think quickly. “Well,” I choke, forcing myself to begin crying, “I…I blacked out…I…I thought I was back in the cave…where I’ve been living…for a while…and when Professor Snape came in…he-he startled me…” tears start down my face, “and I-I reacted…I thought he was the man who-who’s been trying…trying to kill me…for the past few years…it was a mistake…” I burst into sobs, “I…I’m so sorry!” For good measure, I sink to the floor and bury my face into my knees, still sobbing.

It takes a minute before McGonagall bends down and helps me up. “Why would someone be trying to kill you?” she asks quietly. I shake my head to tell her I have no answer. “Why don’t you come with me to my office so you can calm down a bit?” I nod, giving her a shaky smile. When she bends down to pick my wand up for me, I give Snape a wide grin, which quickly leaves my face when McGonagall hands me my wand. She leads me out of the corridor, leaving Snape scowling in our wake.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlotte says too much, and there are consequences to all actions.

McGonagall’s office seems to be more of a classroom, which I suspect is what it really is, only that she uses it interchangeably. She probably has an actual office and sleeping quarters, but I don’t feel like going into too much detail about her life by asking her; I don’t want to seem too curious about Hogwarts and the interworking of the place. I sit down in front of her desk, and she takes her place across from me, watching me curiously. A moment later, she waves her wand, summoning two butterbeers and hands me one.

I’ve only ever had one in my life, and I loved it. So I eagerly take this one and drink a large swig of it, savoring the butterscotch flavor for a few glorious moments before I look back at the professor. “I know that Professor Dumbledore’s story about you is a lie,” she finally says to me. “After our short conversation, I spoke with him rather than informing the other professors myself that there was a student here.”

“What did he say?” I ask slowly, still trying to enjoy the butterbeer flavor on my lips.

“He didn’t know much about your life before Professor Snape brought you here,” she answers. “I suspect you told him about yourself by now?”

“What little I know I told,” I say, sipping the butterbeer again. “Did you bring me in here to ask me what I know?”

“Certainly not,” she replies swiftly. “I brought you in here because I know Professor Snape can have a temper, and I didn’t want to jeopardize his reputation here at Hogwarts.”

In my opinion, his reputation can’t be that great to begin with, but I keep this thought to myself. “He had every right to be as enraged at me as he was,” I inform her. “I mean, I did Stun him.” However, Stunning him was the most fun I have had in months, and I have to force back my smile. McGonagall doesn’t seem to notice, for she has pulled out some papers and seems to be working, probably preparing for the classes that should be starting soon.

I know I really shouldn’t be distracting her, but there is something about McGonagall that makes me want to speak. “Professor?”

She glances up. “Yes?”

“I would like to tell you about my past.” Snape will never be an ally, and Dumbledore is the most important figure in the war against Lord Voldemort. McGonagall seems like a good alternative, and I find myself telling her what I feel is important enough to get her on my side. Once I start, I find it damn near impossible to stop. Everything flows out of me, from my parents to my great-uncle, to my time at the orphanage. In spite of the little jolts of fear and nerves, my story lingers longer on the orphanage than I would have liked, particularly Mrs. Stoico – the caretaker at the orphanage where I lived those few years. “She…she was a mother to me, Professor, the only one I ever really had.”

I take a deep breath and push on, not entirely sure why I am telling her all of this. “Honestly, she cared about me more than the other orphans, and I…I broke her heart when I left the orphanage after receiving my great-uncle’s letter. And she begged me – _begged me_ – not to leave. But I…I had things I had to do, things I had to learn about myself.” What a waste of time and life that was. I’ve been in isolation for five years because of my choice to learn more about myself. And what good has it brought me? I still know almost nothing about where I came from.

“Part of her understood why I had to leave – she was a Squib, you see, and therefore knew why I could not happily live in the Muggle world. Still…she wanted to me go to a school and learn magic the proper way.” Merlin, I miss that woman. I never should have left the orphanage. Everything went pretty poorly for me after that, honestly. “I can only assume she meant Hogwarts.

“But coming here…it was never in the cards for me.” I’m not supposed to be here. I am supposed to running from Voldemort. I am supposed to be hiding from Death Eaters, not being watched after by one of them. “And, really, it still shouldn’t be. None of this was my plan. I was supposed to remain in hiding until…” Only then am I able to stop myself from going any farther. McGonagall cannot know of my duty to Voldemort.

“It wasn’t my intention to bring you in here to coax your past out of you. If Professor Dumbledore knows and is allowing you to stay here, that’s enough for me,” she informs me.

I glance down to my lap, a poor excuse to avert my eyes from her. The answer to making her more sympathetic towards me is becoming clearer in my mind. “Honestly, Professor, it’s because you saved me from Snape.” She gives me a questioning gaze, which forces me to continue, but not before looking down at my hands again, “Well, since I left the orphanage and have been on the run, I have had no one who seems to care. I think…you remind me of Mrs. Stoico.” Holding my breath, I look up at McGonagall, but only for a second before I look away and continue, “I didn’t mean to say all of this… I’m sorry, professor, I should –”

“Why did you not go back when you discovered your uncle was deceased?”

All thoughts of leaving Hogwarts aside now, I grab the butterbeer with shaky hands and try to force down a swallow, only to find that I am unable, and start choking it back up. This time I will not lie to make McGonagall an ally. I have told no one that Mrs. Stoico had died because I left, and I don't intend on talking about it now, not to someone whom I have just met, not when I am unsure just how long I will be forced to stay here at Hogwarts. I simply cannot let that piece of information be known. So I say, “It was time for me to move on, Professor. I couldn’t live in the Muggle world, not with the knowledge of being a witch.”

I know it is a weak excuse, and I know she can see right through it; but whether it is my cracking voice or my poorly hidden tears or my trembling hands that drive her to drop the subject, I don’t know, and I doubt if I ever will. Whatever the reason, I simply appreciate her not pushing me. “So you’ve taught yourself for five years?” Her voice is kind and welcoming, and I try not to look up at her when I hear it. I don’t want to get too attached to the idea of anyone being kind to me; it never really works out for me in the end. I just can’t risk it. Everyone who has ever cared for me either died an awful death or was lying for their own nefarious purposes. “How far along do you think you are? Do you think you are prepared for fifth year work?”

“I believe I am,” I say. “I’ve had a lot of time to do nothing but magic.”

“Could you demonstrate?” McGonagall asks me, trying to put a light tone in her voice. To me, it seems that she is trying to keep me away from Snape for a bit longer by offering a distraction that is hard to ignore. I have to prove myself. I’ve been alone, on the run, for so many years, and I have to prove that I am on the same level as the rest of the students in my year.

I smile. “Sure.” I’m positive she can hear my anxiety. “I’ve never been asked to demonstrate magic. So forgive me if it’s not what you expect.” I pick up my wand. “This particular transfiguration saved my life earlier this year.” I stand up and move a few steps away from the desk. “ _Serpensortia!_ ” A serpent appears from thin air and turns to me, ready to strike. I then say, “ _Confringo!_ ” and the snake bursts into flames and leaves a small puff of black smoke. With the smoke dispersing through the room, I wave my wand one more time. The smoke reforms and solidifies, becoming three daggers, which I direct to the wall. They smack it and fall to the floor, and I vanish them a moment later. I look back to McGonagall. “I didn’t have to go through so much to get to the daggers, because the other wizard was creating the smoke for me. He had set the house I was staying in on fire. And summoning the snake is just one of my favorite spells. I’ve learned that snakes can be very intimidating.”

“That they can. I don’t think I need to worry about your Transfiguration abilities,” McGonagall assures me with a kind smile.

“That’s good to know,” I reply. “Transfiguration is one of the things I studied the hardest the past few years. Well, that and Charms, but mostly Transfiguration.” Trying to make a cave or an unfinished basement or a cellar somewhere into a comfortable place to live for a few weeks always required a little bit of Transfiguration, and that led me to focus almost solely on that branch of magic. Charms were also useful when making an uncomfortable place inhabitable, but I’d rather not think about my true reasons for learning Charms.

“Your least favorite subject would be what?” she asks.

“Either Herbology or Potions,” I answer. “It was hard for me to get the needed supplies for those, so I just lost interest. Potions was okay when I had the needed materials, but I focused mainly on Transfiguration and Charms, and a bit of Defense Against the Dark Arts.” For obvious reasons, I needed to practice Defense Against the Dark Arts at least a bit. That way I could at least somewhat protect myself from the Death Eaters who wanted to harm me when running was not an option.

“Hmm,” she thinks to herself quietly, “Professor Snape teaches Potions –”

“So I’ll either excel or grow to despise it?” I regretfully interrupt.

The professor does not seem bothered by my untimely interruption, and in fact there seems to be amusement in her eyes. “It typically works that way for most of the students.”

“If things between Snape –”

“Professor Snape,” she interjects.

“ – between Professor Snape and I continue the way they have been, I fear I’ll grow to despise Potions,” I conclude.

“Give it a chance. Professor Snape is rough on his students, but that is only because he wants to see them succeed.”

I smirk. “At the current moment, I believe he wants me dead.”

“Try not to cross him, and Potions will be fine.”

I say with a laugh, “Unless Snape –”

“Professor Snape,” she interjects again.

“Unless he forgives easily, I fear the whole ‘try not to cross him’ thing has already passed.”

“You can try not making it worse,” she replies.

I don't know, really. Snape didn’t like me from the moment he was told to bring me to Hogwarts, and I doubt he’ll forgive me for Stunning him, especially after I smirked back at him when McGonagall came to my rescue.

I don't voice any of these concerns, of course. I keep them to myself, and I’m only in her office a few more minutes before I bid her a good rest of the day and make my way back to the Slytherin Dungeon.

I’ve almost made it to the stairs descending to the dungeons when a thought occurs to me. “Dobby?” Within seconds, the little house-elf appears beside me with the same loud _crack!_ as before. “Dobby,” I say, “could you bring me something to eat? It doesn’t matter what; I’m starving.”

He smiles, then disappears again. I wait in the corridor for his return, but instead of Dobby bringing it back, there is another elf. I don’t have a chance to ask its name before it vanishes. On the plate in front of me sits some kind of sandwich, the likes of which I’ve never seen. Nevertheless, it looks good. I carry the plate in one hand and my drink in the other as I make my way to the common room.

I’ve finished the sandwich – it was some kind of roast – and am gulping down what’s left of my butterbeer – that makes two today – as I enter the Slytherin Dungeon. What I had thought would be a nightmare of a day has actually become quite relaxing. I set the goblet down on one of the tables and take a seat in front of the still-blazing fire (Does it ever die out?).

Having already had enough adventure for one day, the only choice I have is to find something to entertain myself with inside the Slytherin Dungeon. (I am still partially afraid to wander around when I do not know how well Snape has calmed.) All I really have to do is avoid him until he has had time to cool off and all shall be fine. I hope. The Slytherin professor and I have had no contact since McGonagall saved my life – thank the heavens above for her, or I’d be dead – and I’m dreading the time I have to face him. I was in the moment earlier and couldn’t help but smile back at him when that glorious Gryffindor arrived to spare my life. So it’s no doubt that he knows the truth. A shudder runs through me at the thought.

He’ll certainly still be upset. I would be, and I can’t expect any different from him.

Absent-mindedly, I write all of the questions of my life in the air with a fiery font. _Why did my mother choose her crime over me? Where is my father and why did he abandon me? Why did my great-uncle not mention my father at all? Why did Lord Voldemort choose me? What will Voldemort do with my child, if I actually have one? Where is Voldemort now?_ (I probably don't really want to know that one.)

Maybe seeing them will help me sort through them; maybe seeing them will help me answer them. But I doubt it. The only thing drawing in the air does is relax me as I think about my impending punishment from Snape. There’s no doubt in my mind that he will do so by undermining the rules of Hogwarts. After all, I’m not even a _real_ student, am I? So why should he abide by the rules when punishing me?

But the longer I lie here, helpless, the more gruesome the punishments are that flash through my mind. Perhaps if I go now, perhaps if I find the professor and apologize for my actions, he will show me mercy. With very little hope of this happening, I stand to my feet, brush away all of my questions, and leave the common room. For some unknown, ungodly reason, I believe I should face Snape head-on rather than be blindsided.

I’ve no idea which room is Snape’s office, but I try each of them just to make sure. The first one is locked, much to my dismay. The second one is locked as well. Okay, so perhaps searching for Snape’s office was not my best idea. Surely it will be locked with some complicated spell to keep annoying, obnoxious students out. I probably fall into that group of students.

Yet I continue trying the doors anyways despite my better judgment, despite the hairs on the back of my neck rising, despite the fear in my heart.

I am surprised to find that the fourth door is unlocked. I do not immediately open it. What kind of horrors could be in here? I mean, if a professor as cruel as Snape leaves a door open, then there has got to be a reason. That reason very well could be potions meant to harm nosy students.

Is that even allowed at Hogwarts?

Probably not.

Am I willing to bet my life on anything less than absolute certainty?

Why not? I’ve not much to live for anyways at this point.

So I throw the door open. From what little I can see through the dim lighting, shelves line the stone walls, each full of different and colorful potions and what I assume to be potion ingredients. I don’t want to know what any of them do because I have a feeling most of them would result in a death more painful than I am willing to think about. In the middle of the room sits a large desk. Could I possibly be lucky enough to find Snape’s office unlocked?

This was a bad idea. He’s not in here, and if he finds me trying to sneak into his office, I’m fairly certain he won't believe that I came to apologize and face my punishment. I spin on my heel to get away before he catches me, and I find my face slammed into a man’s chest, my heart dropping to the floor when I realize that this must be Snape’s chest. This won’t end well for me, I’m sure.

“I see I’ve found you snooping,” he says coolly, taking me by the shoulders and forcing me off of him. “Might I ask, just what are you doing in my office?”

I stiffen my jaw. He immediately assumes I’m snooping and probably trying to destroy his office. How rude. I’m not a delinquent; I just make mistakes. The burning anger, the anger which can only be set aflame by Severus Snape, begins sizzling once more, but I refuse to attack him like I did earlier (or make any sudden movements that would make it seem like I’m attacking). It would be far too dangerous. “Excuse me, Professor,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to get around him.

The crooked-nosed man throws his arm up in front of me and pushes me back into the room. “I’ll ask again, Rodgers. What were you doing in my office?”

“I was looking for you, _Professor_ ,” I hiss. So much for the apology.

“It seems you found me,” he says. His tone is darker than usual, so much in fact that I can’t stop my eyes from wandering to his face, which is somehow both expressionless and full of fury at the same time. His brow is creased, and the flickering torches in his office make his shadowed face even more menacing. Suddenly, I find myself fearing for my life. But…he...he wouldn’t kill me, right? I mean, not only am I student and he a professor, but I am the one chosen to bear the Dark Lord’s child and he is a devout follower of the Dark Lord.

His black eyes penetrate straight into my soul. I would cower away from him, but that would put me farther into his office, which is something I’d rather not do. “If you ever use any sort of magic against me again,” he’s practically growling at me, “you will beg the Dark Lord to rescue you from my clutches.”

I continue to stare at him, speechless. Had he said something like “you’re going to wish you had never come to Hogwarts” or “you’re going to begging someone to rescue you from Hogwarts” I would have a witty retort for him. But his mentioning Voldemort completely throws me off. All I can do is nod at him and whisper, hardly audible, “Yes, Professor Snape.” He slides to the side to let me go back to the Slytherin common room, and I scurry away as fast as I can.

I reach the door, but before I can say the password, I turn to yell at him for whatever reason pops into my head, but it is in that moment that I see a jet of scarlet red light coming at me. Before I can react, I’m hit with the Stunning Spell, and everything goes black.

The next time I open my eyes, my hand flies to my head pounding head. I look around. I’m in the Slytherin common room. I’m lying on one of the sofas. Snape is in a chair across from me. “What the hell was that about?” I croak as I bring myself into a sitting position. Snape is wearing an evil smirk. “You already –”

“Hit you with a spell?”

“Yes,” I say. I swing my legs over the side of the sofa to look more natural in the seat and to occupy myself with something other than looking at him. A bitter taste lingers in my mouth. “Are we even now?” Snape doesn’t answer, just smiles cruelly at me. “Truce?” I try again, even going so far as to hold out my hand.

Watching me suspiciously, he shakes my hand. “For now,” he answers. Then he stands and walks to the door and leaves without another word. I go back to the dormitory of the fifth-year Slytherin girls and curl up on my bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other students arrive, and Charlotte's life at Hogwarts is about to change.

The Slytherin common room has been my hideout from Snape for most of the day. Even though we agreed to a flimsy truce last night, I fear leaving the dungeons because what if I anger him in some way? If he is supposed to protect me on behalf of Voldemort while I am here at Hogwarts, it is probably best not to make him my enemy, no matter how badly I detest him. Voldemort is more terrifying than Snape, and if being a good, easy-to-manage student will ensure that I have a good standing with him, I guess I can be kind, be invisible, be out of the way, be on my best behavior, whatever it takes to not reignite the animosity between Snape and me.

I just really don't want Voldemort to know that I am still resisting his plans for me.

It’s not until after a house-elf brings me dinner that I begin to crave being anywhere other than in this common room. I leave the empty plate and glass on the table and exit the Slytherin Dungeon, swiftly dodging up the stairs to avoid any contact with Snape, going to the one place where at least one of my questions can be answered.

When I reach the office door, I take a moment, breathing deeply, before I knock. “Enter,” McGonagall calls through the door.

“Evening, Professor,” I say.

“Evening, Rodgers,” she greets me as she sets her quill aside.

“I hate to interrupt your day,” I begin, “but I had a question.”

The witch motions to the chair in front of her desk. “Take a seat.” I do. “Now, what is your question?”

“It’s about Conjuration, Professor,” I say.

“Conjuration?” She sounds skeptical.

“Yes, Professor,” I continue. “I struggle Conjuring the smallest of things, and when I do manage to Conjure something, it is always a tiny version of what I was trying to Conjure in the first place.”

“You’ve managed to Conjure something from nothing?”

“Yes, Professor. For instance, yesterday I was practicing it, trying to Conjure a chair, but when I finally succeeded, it was house-elf size. I have been practicing for a few months now and still seem to be failing.”

“Conjuration is distinguished from the other branches of Transfiguration due to the different nature of the transfiguration. To Conjure something from nothing, you are Transfiguring the desired object from thin air,” she says. “It one of most complex branches of Transfiguration taught here at Hogwarts, and as such is usually only taught to N.E.W.T. level classes.”

“I – what is a ‘newt’ level class?”

“N.E.W.T. stands for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test,” McGonagall explains. “In order to enter a N.E.W.T. level class, students must receive an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ or higher on their O.W.L.s at the end of their fifth year.”

_Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test? Merlin, what kind of hell am I in_? “So what you’re saying is that I will be unable to learn Conjuration here at Hogwarts until my sixth year – _if_ I am forced to stay that long?”

The professor opens her mouth to speak, but I continue talking, more to myself than her, “But that will be too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just that if I get stuck staying in a place that doesn’t have something I can Transfigure into a bed, I need to be able to Conjure up one, and I –” I bring myself to a sudden halt.

“Rodgers, you said you left the orphanage and found your great-uncle deceased. Where did you go after?” McGonagall asks softly. “Where have you been living?”

I look away and mutter, “Here, there, anywhere.”

Her voice is full of professor-like concern when she asks, “Do you have a home?”

“I more of just…floataroundalittlebit, what time is it?”

“Rodgers –”

“I’m really sorry, Professor, but there is something I must do before it gets too late. Thank you for your help.” I don't look back as I rush out of her office to cower away in the Slytherin Dungeon.

The following days go by pretty quietly, the house-elves bringing me food whenever I request it (I’ve never had service this fantastic before), and I have no reason to leave the Slytherin Dungeon. In fact, I have every reason not to leave. Now not only do I need to avoid Snape, but I also need to avoid McGonagall, at least for a while.

But when staying in the dungeons begins to weigh on me, I cast the Disillusionment Charm on myself and sneak to the Astronomy Tower. (I learned the Disillusionment Charm two years ago, knowing it would be one of the easiest ways to hide from Death Eaters.) I’ve gone to the tower at least once a day, after dinner, since I ran from McGonagall’s office.

I managed to avoid both of those professors until today when Snape came to the common room to inform me that the other students are supposed to be arriving later, which will bring a big change in the way I’ve been living these past two weeks. Snape commanded me to wait at the entrance of the Great Hall and casually merge into a group of Slytherins and try not to draw attention to myself. This is exactly what I plan to do. However, the other students won’t be here for another couple of hours.

Instead of staying inside to wait out the rest of the day, I plan to go outside. There is a beech tree by the lake, I’ve never been able to relax under a tree or by any type of lake – I could never risk being out in the open for too long – so that’s exactly what I plan on doing today.

Luckily for me, I see neither Snape nor McGonagall in the castle as I make my way to the tree, and I’m still thanking the stars above as I examine the area around the tree and sit down. Even though I wish I could be anywhere but here at Hogwarts, I have never before felt such peace. From the way the wind seems to blow so gently here, to the way the bright grass looks compared to the dark stone of the castle, to the glorious blue lake that invites me to swim, everything here is perfect. I just wish it wasn’t _here_ that I find my personal heaven.

I rest my back against the tree, close my eyes, and take in a deep breath of the calm air, the likes of which I once believed would never come to me. Death Eaters cannot get me here – I’m _safe_ for the first time in five years.

A snake slithers into the lake, drawing all of my attention. I soon find myself jealous of the serpent, quite like I was jealous of the owls. I can only imagine what the feeling of being completely and utterly free is like.

I find snakes fascinating. They’re always crawling on their faces and bellies, but they keep moving as if it doesn’t bother them. They don’t care that crawling that way is typically something to be ashamed of.

“ _Accio snake_ ,” I say. The creature flies from the lake’s water and straight into my hand. It hisses at me, but I keep my hand clamped close enough to its mouth so it can’t bite me. “Hello,” I greet it. Again, it opens its mouth, and with a jolt of excitement, I expect it to answer. Instead, it only hisses again. “ _Depulso snake_.” Though I may never speak to them, I should certainly learn to be as content as they are.

Around me there are a bunch of twigs. I pick up a handful and throw them into the air, one at a time, saying, “ _Expulso_ ,” at each of them to make tiny explosions. It seems childish, even to me, that I’m causing mini explosions, but I don’t want to stop. Every time I tried to practice any magic while on the run, I would have to constantly watch my surroundings to make sure no one was coming to kill me while my guard was down. Sitting by a lake under a tree in broad daylight and doing magic with no worries is a feeling I thought I would never know.

I wonder… Abruptly, I stand to my feet. I take a quick survey of the grounds to make sure no one is watching. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Nothing happens. I concentrate on the moment that I’m in, the first time in my life where I’ve felt both free and happy at the same time, and I try it again. This time, a silver vapor comes from the tip of my wand. I sit back down once the spell dies away. It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to creating the true Patronus Charm. I think I’ll settle for that today.

With the sun bearing down on me, I drift off into a nap.

I doubt I would have awoken until tomorrow morning had Snape not come to fetch me because, “Those in my House will not be late for the Start-of-Term Feast,” or something to that effect. I was still a little dazed and didn’t truly pay that much attention.

Now I am standing behind the large doors leading into the Great Hall. I’m supposed to just merge with a group of people and sit down at the Slytherin table. This is the moment I’ve probably been dreading most of all. I don’t know how much yet, but I know things are going to change with the beginning of the school year.

A large group comes in moments later. I try to wait until at least one person sits at the Slytherin table before I take a seat. At the moment, a boy with white-blond hair, a pale face, and gray eyes walks past me. He sits down at the Slytherin table with a group around him. Somehow, I feel as if I know him, and I find myself going to sit down diagonal from him. The girl on the other side of him looks at me, her face full of hatred. “Who are you? We’ve never seen you here before.” There is a restrained venom in her voice.

I inwardly sigh. If all the Slytherins are as dreadful as this girl and Snape, my life is going to be a living hell…or, more so than it already has been. “Charlotte Rodgers,” I answer. “I’m a fifth-year transfer from Durmstrang.” I hope my answer doesn’t sound as mechanical to them as it does to me.

“Well,” the blond-headed boy says, “you’re in Slytherin, so you can’t be too bad. I’m Malfoy,” _he seems familiar because he is Lucius Malfoy’s son_ , “Draco Malfoy.” He gestures to the group around him. “This is Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy.” Something seems to occur to him. “We come from old wizarding families, pureblood families. It’s the only respectable type of wizard. You are pureblood, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I answer quickly.

“Good, I would hope so, considering you’re in Slytherin. Wouldn’t want a filthy Mudblood ruining the House’s good name, would we?” He says this so casually I can’t help but want to agree with him,

“What’s a Mudblood?” I ask without taking a moment realize just how bad of an idea this might be.

The girl named Pansy giggles, but it’s more of a condescending sound than friendly laughter. Draco answers, “A Mudblood is someone born to Muggles.” He meets my eye. “You know what Muggles are, correct?” I nod and look away. This whole Hogwarts thing is looking more and more like a death sentence.

“How could she not know what a Mudblood is?” I hear Pansy mock me.

I can’t help myself from saying, “Well, Pansy – I believe that’s your name – I didn’t know what a Mudblood is because I don’t mingle with them at all. That kind of riffraff is not allowed into Durmstrang. I keep myself as closely connected to purebloods as possible, knowing a Mudblood will only ruin my reputation.” Pansy flushes a deep red, and Draco turns his head so Pansy can't see him smirking.

McGonagall walks through the room, followed by a large group of smaller students. These must be the first years. She’s carrying that wicked hat that put me in Slytherin. I grimace at it. _Why did it have to put me with this lot?_ McGonagall puts it on a stool, and it begins singing a song. However, I don’t register a single thing it says because of the sniggering coming from Draco and Crabbe (at least, I think it’s Crabbe). Each young student goes through the Sorting. I don’t cheer with the rest of the Slytherins when a child is put into our House. I can’t help but feel sorry for them. They’ll be stuck with these people for seven years.

When, at last, every student has been put into their respective Houses, there is the Feast. The food I’ve been eating over the past two weeks is nothing compared to what the house-elves have prepared for us this evening. I haven't had vegetables this good in years. The last time I had cooked vegetables was at the orphanage. Since I left, I’ve only ever had them raw. Cooked far out-tastes (is that a thing?) those I found across the countryside.

When the feast is finished, the headmaster stands to make an announcement, and almost as if he had rehearsed it, Draco mouths Dumbledore’s speech as Dumbledore delivers it, much to the enjoyment of his friends around him. He locks eyes with me again and says, “He makes the same speech every year.”

Dumbledore makes a few more announcements, including a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher named Dolores Umbridge, to which Draco mutters, “Why don’t they just give the position to Professor Snape already?” And with that comment, I shudder. I cannot imagine what would happen to this place if a Death Eater who practices the Dark Arts was given that position.

Not even Draco Malfoy can hide his look of surprise when Umbridge stands and interrupts Dumbledore. No one pays any attention to what she says, most of us just fiddling with whatever objects are closest to us or talking with our friends. Attention only goes back to the front of the room when Dumbledore takes the stand once again to send us to our common rooms.

It’s not until we’re in the Slytherin Dungeon that Draco breaks away from his devoted followers and decides to talk to me again. He sits down beside me by the fire and strikes up a conversation. “What’s Durmstrang like? I hear they proudly teach the Dark Arts there. Is that true?”

I don’t know much about Durmstrang, so I just agree. “Yeah, they were big on the Dark Arts. Well, until Karkaroff went missing. I don’t know what they teach now; I’m here.”

Draco doesn’t comment are Karkaroff missing, which I couldn’t be happier about because I know nothing about it beyond the fact that he is missing. “Well, I feel quite sorry for you, really,” the pale-faced boy replies. “Going from Durmstrang to Hogwarts… I don’t think I would survive. The Dark Arts here are a joke. We only teach the defense of them. And you saw the git that’s teaching us this year. I don’t know why they don’t just give the position to Professor Snape already.” He pauses. “Have you met Professor Snape?”

I try hard not to laugh, but a smile comes against my will. “I know Professor Snape,” I say. As badly as I want to tell yet another person about my disagreement with that particular professor, I cannot bring myself to tell Draco.

“When did you meet him? He’s the best teacher here. The only one who’s got any sense about him, if you ask me.”

“I got here almost two weeks ago,” I explain. “I met him after I was Sorted into Slytherin.” That’s not completely true, but I don’t want to give details about my having been a prisoner in Malfoy Manor. Come to think of it, I wonder if Draco was holed up somewhere inside the manor while my life was being traded over without my consent, as if I am nothing more than an object with which to gain leverage.

He looks up at me, but doesn’t comment on what I’ve just said, instead choosing to say, “It’s no secret that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is the one Snape’s been vying for ever since he became a teacher here, but Dumbledore refuses to let him have it.”

“Why doesn’t Dumbledore let him take it?” I ask innocently, though I’m pretty sure I know why. Dumbledore must know that Snape still delves in the Dark Arts, and that he would probably teach the students that Dark Wizards are the only worthy wizards, or some other kind of nonsense.

“Well, it’s rumored that he wasn’t always against You-Know-Who. Some people think that he worked for him. Dumbledore has let rumors cloud his judgment.”

“So what does he teach?” I know this answer, McGonagall told me, but for some reason I want to keep talking to Malfoy. He’s nothing like his father, and I am unsure if this frightens me or excites me.

“Potions,” he says. “You’ll like it. Snape is amazing.”

“He seems like the kind who has a temper,” I say as nonchalantly as I can.

“Only against Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws…so pretty much anyone who isn’t worthy to be at Hogwarts, anyone who is not a Slytherin.” Apparently Slytherins think they’re better than everyone else. Great.

“Are there many Mudbloods here? The way you were talking about them sounded as if you had a personal affiliation with one, whom you happen to hate.”

He smirks. “I do. The Mudblood I was referring to is Hermione Granger. She hangs out with Potter – Harry Potter, yes, the famous one – and Weasley. Weasley is just as bad as a Mudblood: He’s a blood traitor, meaning his family befriends Muggles and Mudbloods. The whole lot of them is pathetic.”

 I know enough of the Wizarding World to know who Harry Potter is. Keeping my voice as neutral as possible, I ask, “Do…do you think Harry Potter will again be able to vanquish You-Know-Who?”

Draco snorts, “Not at all. It was luck last time, and I don’t think he’ll be able to muster up enough of that again to be able to stand a fight with You-Know-Who. That’s how I know he hasn’t returned. There’s no way Potter met the Dark Lord last year and withstood a fight.”

I nod, swallowing down the lump in my throat. Maybe Harry will be able to kill the Dark Lord. Maybe I won’t have to have the child…

“So if you got here two weeks ago, is it safe to assume you’ve seen everything in the castle?” Draco seems to be grasping at straws for small talk.

“Not a chance in hell,” I answer. “I stayed mostly confined to this room, trying to avoid the professors and their questions. A few times I went to the Astronomy Tower, but only when I knew I would not have to face any of them – the professors, I mean.”

“Can’t say I blame you, honestly. I wouldn’t have wanted to spend time with the professors either, especially knowing you’ll have to deal with them for a year as it is.”

“That was my thought process behind it.” Such lies.

He looks into the fire for a few moments before meeting my eyes again. “Of all the places you could have gone to avoid the professors, you chose the Astronomy Tower. Why there?”

The intensity in his eyes forces me to look away, to anything, whatever I can find as a lifeline. When I find nothing, I resign to meeting his gaze. “Because, over the course of my life there are very few pleasures I have allowed myself. Seeing the Hogwarts grounds, being in one of the highest points of the castle, overlooking almost everything, I felt like I was finally in control over my own life, like everything that will soon come for me was put on hold to allow me that one moment of joy. I was free.”

A short moment later, almost inaudibly, he asks, “Free from what?”

And that is when Pansy decides to come over and plop down next to Draco, making sure that there is no room left between the two of them. The pale-faced boy flinches with surprise, and I find myself thanking any god out there that I did not have to answer his question. This may be one of the times when I must thank Pansy for her clinginess to the Malfoy boy. “Speaking with the Durmstrang girl again, Draco?” she asks. There a distinct tone I her voice, and though I’m unsure of what it is, I do not like it.

“Yes, Pansy,” Draco says. “And I think you should get to know her. She’s Slytherin. We’re in this together.”

Pansy scowls at me behind Draco’s back. With that, I find my way out of this conversation so I can be alone again, and I stand up, bid them both a good night, and go to the dormitory, trying to put Pansy and Draco far in the back of my mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte attempts to make friends while experiencing Hogwarts classes for the first time.

When I wake up the next morning, all I can do is dread the coming hours. Classes start today. I look around the to the other four poster beds. The girls in my year are already dressed and gone, so I speed along, not wanting to be the last one out of the Slytherin Dungeon. Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy are all in the common room as I descend down the stairs. I grimace and try to sneak around the group (I still don't know what came over me, and I deeply regret letting Draco know that vague detail about myself). “Charlotte,” I hear Draco say. I look over, and he motions for me to join him and his posse. I acquiesce and walk toward them. “We’re just about to go to the Great Hall for breakfast. Care to come with us?”

I nod. “Sure, yeah, thanks.”

Draco smiles. “I’m not sure how they do things at Durmstrang,” I’m tempted to say that I don’t either, but I manage hold it back, “but we’ll get our schedules from Snape when we get up there.”

As we make our way to the Great Hall, Draco and his friends chat excitedly – sometimes forlornly – about their classes. Apparently, classes with Gryffindor are their least favorite, mostly because the blood-traitor, the Mudblood, and Harry Potter are always in those classes. We take our seats, me farther away from Draco than the rest of the group, thanks to Pansy. Owls swoop in, dropping letters. None come to me, not that I was expecting any.

Draco opens his letter. “My mother and father always want to know what professors return. They like to keep tabs on Dumbledore, you see. Want to make sure he’s running things properly around here. They say he’s the worst thing to ever happen to Hogwarts.” I’m not the least bit surprised to hear that the Malfoys are against Dumbledore, as it seems there are few things they actually agree with or can even tolerate.

Pansy opens a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , the most popular newspaper in the wizard world. “My parents agree. What kind of mad git would believe Potter about You-Know-Who returning? If you ask me, Potter killed Diggory and tried pinning it on the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” I’ve read enough to the _Daily Prophet_ to know what she’s talking about, so I don’t have to make a fool of myself again by asking. That’s the last thing I need right now.

“My father was just shocked Potter survived to the last round. He thought for sure he’d be killed in the first!” Draco announces.

Pansy releases an unnatural giggle. I ignore it and look to the table at the front where Snape and McGonagall are sitting. I have successfully avoided them both, but I know I will have to face them today. Hopefully my truce with Snape will still stand. I don't worry too much about McGonagall. So long as I’m not alone with her, she won't bring up what I mistakenly said the other day. Looking back at the Slytherins I’m sitting with, I ask “So you don’t think there’s a chance at all of You-Know-Who returning?” I know full well that he has returned, but I keep this to myself. I would prefer to act like he has not, just so I will not lose my sanity.

“You’re not saying you believe him, are you?” Pansy sniggered.

“No, Pansy,” I sigh, making sure they can all hear the exasperation in my voice, “I’m simply asking a question to see if you think it’s possible. Listen to the whole question next time.”

Draco smirks, Pansy’s face reddening slightly. “Potter’s always had a thing against my family,” Draco tells me. “He even made us lose our house-elf. He’s always trying to find ways to destroy my father’s reputation.”

“And our fathers’,” Goyle says, motioning to himself and Crabbe. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak.

“Potter says our fathers are Death Eaters, the followers of the Dark Lord,” Malfoys fills in. “I think he wants others to know what it’s like to not have a family.”

I ignore the comment about family by turning around and looking for the Gryffindor table to see Harry Potter. So no one believes him? I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. I know it’s true; I know Lord Voldemort has returned. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have the entire Wizarding World convinced you’re a liar. My eyes travel until I find Dumbledore’s face. The great wizard’s reputation has also suffered because he vouched for Harry. Voldemort has left his mark already, and he has not even truly made his first appearance since his return.

“What are your parents like?” Pansy asks me.

My attention quickly snaps back to the Slytherin table. “My parents?” I repeat. “My parents…” I am about to say that they’re dead when I realize that I have a whole second life now. Because my parents chose themselves over me. Because I was chosen by Voldemort to bear his child. Because I am not allowed to have a normal life. A new string of bitterness flares in me. _Why me?_ “They don’t care much about the _Daily Prophet_. They sent me here because Durmstrang’s headmaster is missing.”

I’m spared from elaborating by Snape, who makes his way down the table passing out schedules. He stops when he gets to us. Not even acknowledging me, he says to Draco and his friends, “Have a good holiday?”

“Yes, Professor,” they answer.

Snape hands each of them a schedule. Then he hand me mine with a curt, “Rodgers,” before he continues walking.

“What was that about?” Draco asks.

“Professor Snape and I had a disagreement one of my first days here,” I answer carelessly.

“What’d you do?” Pansy asks acidly.

“Jumping to the conclusion that it’s my fault? Are you some kind of psychic who can see into the past?” I reply.

“I –” But she doesn’t complete the sentence before Draco cuts in, “What happened?”

“I might tell you one day,” I answer, then avert my eyes from him and look at my schedule. I don’t know what – or where – any of the classes really are, so I can only hope that I’m in the same class as the one group of Slytherins I have met, despite how much I am starting to dislike Pansy. They’re the only way I’ll be able to find my way around the castle.

The first class we have is Transfiguration, which I can honestly say I’m looking forward to. I don’t ask Draco and his friends what they think about McGonagall. I respect her very much and don’t want to worry about others chopping her down. I follow them to class and try to sit away from them, but Draco doesn’t seem to like this idea. He directs Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy to the table I’m sitting at, and they take seats near me.

McGonagall goes to the front of the classroom and spends the first fifteen minutes of class talking about how important O.W.L.s are to our future careers. I don't care about my “future career” because, if Voldemort has his way, I will probably be pulled into his circle of Death Eaters after having his child, and I doubt if the Wizarding World would ever approve of someone like me being a normal member of society.

After what seems like a year-long rant about our future, McGonagall switches gears. “Today you will be learning the Vanishing Spell. It is one of the most difficult spells you will learn before N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration.” McGonagall summons snails onto everyone’s desks. “We will start small, using these snails.” With a flick of her wand and an, “ _Evanesco_ ,” the snail disappears. She summons another into its place. “Begin.”

I know the spell, have even used it on a few occasions. All those times when I was unable to find houses to temporarily live in had forced my hand, and I had to vanish unwanted creatures from the caves or cellars I found myself staying in. Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose. I look down at my snail, knowing very well that I can make it vanish. I try a few times to do it without speaking. It doesn’t work, and I begin to feel McGonagall’s eyes on me but try my best to ignore it.

I really should learn some nonverbal spells.

“How does she expect us to do this?” Draco growls. “One demonstration is not enough to show us how!”

“Perhaps you should have read the book,” I answer softly.

“You haven't managed to vanish your snail yet either!” Pansy hisses, coming to Draco’s defense.

Draco adds, “Are you saying that you read the book?”

“It’s Transfiguration,” I say pointedly, “of course I did the reading.” That is only half of a lie. I mean, yeah, while I have read this class’s particular Transfiguration book before, I did not read it for this class.

“And yet you still have not vanished your snail,” Pansy sneers, desperately trying to make her snail disappear.

“I take it you care about this class then?” Draco asks me.

“It was my best class at Durmstrang,” I lie.

“And yet you seem to be just as bad at Vanishing Spells as we are,” Pansy interjects.

I glare at her. “Is that so, Pansy?”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn't it?” the Slytherin girl answers.

“Let it go, Pansy,” Draco says, a layer of sweat now on his forehead from how strongly he is concentrating on this spell. “None of us are doing that well right now. Why focus on only her?”

“Why defend her?” Pansy hisses. “She’s a nobody.”

“She’s one of us, she’s a Slytherin,” Draco states. “And therefore she deserves our respect.”

“Ten minutes left!” she announces some time later. I catch her eye, and I get a subtle, disapproving shake of the head in return. Why does that bother me so much?

Sighing, I say very quietly, “ _Evanesco_.” The snail vanishes.

Draco stops completely. “How did you do that?” he whispers.

Pansy looks at me as if she is fantasizing different ways to kill me. I can't stop my grin. “I read the book,” I answer evenly.

“Do it to mine!” he commands with a smile.

I point my wand at his snail when the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat stops me. I look up and see McGonagall standing beside Draco. “See me after class, Rodgers,” she commands. Pansy giggles gleefully.

“Yes, Professor,” I reply. She walks off without another word. Putting my wand back into my robes, I look back at Draco. “Maybe next time?”

He grins. “I’ll save you a seat in Potions. It’s in Snape’s dungeon.” Pansy’s smile immediately drops.

“See you then,” I comment, now thoroughly enjoying how easy it is to upset Pansy.

All of the other students leave to go to Potions when class ends, most of carrying with them their frustration of having Transfiguration homework. I walk to McGonagall’s desk. “I wasn’t really going to make his snail vanish, Professor,” I tell her.

“Oh, I know that,” she answers. “It took you long enough to make yours vanish. After what you said to me and showed me in my office, I have no doubt that you could have accomplished that much earlier.”

I look down.

“I care about each individual student’s success here at Hogwarts. I don’t want to see you underachieving in my class again.” Her tone is strict and to the point, finalizing the discussion, but I can’t let it end like that.

“Wouldn’t that be counterproductive, seeing as I’m a transfer student from Durmstrang? I can’t come in and perform better the Hogwarts students…” I think I hid my disgust very well.

McGonagall seems to ponder this. “That would require considerably more work from you, Rodgers,” she says, “and from what Professor Snape tells me, you’ve already asked not to do any.”

I smirk. “Well, I can be a fast learner…just not too fast.”

“Very well,” McGonagall agrees. “Hurry to your next class. Professor Snape does not easily forgive tardiness.”

I nod and walk swiftly to the door. Once I feel I’m out of earshot of McGonagall, I begin running. I don’t need another reason to not get along with Snape, and being late for his class will definitely make him hate me more. When I get to the room, the others are still talking and preparing for class. Draco waves me over, and I take a seat next to him at his table.

“Settle down,” Snape says, closing the room door. He sweeps across the room and stands behind his desk. As McGonagall had done, he spends the first few minutes telling us about how important the O.W.L.s are and that he only accepts top scores into his N.E.W.T. Potions class. He talks about how most of us will be saying goodbye after this year, meaning he doesn’t expect many of us to achieve his high standards. His voice tells me that he doesn’t regret this at all, and his black eyes staring at Harry Potter tells me that he cannot wait to say goodbye to that particular student. I want to know why he seems to dislike Potter so much, but if I ask Draco and his disciples, I am sure their reasons will not be accurate.

“But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell,” says Snape softly, “so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students.

“Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation…”

I lose concentration as he warns of the dangers of the potion if it is too strong. With a flick of his wand, the instructions write themselves on the board and the cupboard full of supplies opens itself. “Start,” he commands.

Draco assists me with getting the supplies, and we begin the very precise instructions. Everything has to be done just right, according to the board. I catch Snape’s eye once. He seems less than interested in the work of me and Draco and Draco’s followers. He seems to be watching Harry closely.

“Not that good with Potions class, are you, Charlotte?” Pansy asks me.

“I’ve never had much use for it.”

Draco is focusing extremely hard while adding the ingredients to his cauldron and doesn’t seem to hear Pansy and me bickering. “But the right potions can save a life,” she points out. “Why wouldn’t you care for it?”

“I just don't,” I answer. I probably would have enjoyed it had I been able to get my hands on the ingredients, but that time has come and gone, leaving me rather apathetic towards the subject.

When class is reaching its end, Snape announces, “A light silver vapor should be rising from your cauldron.”

Draco and I exchange worried looks. Both of our potions are releasing a dull gray smoke. Snape walks to the back of the room. “I think it’s close enough,” I say to him.

“What’s this, Potter?” Snape asks.

Draco’s head snaps up, followed quickly be the rest of the Slytherins. “Watch this,” the blond-haired boy tells me.

I try to block out Snape’s tormenting of Harry, but I don’t miss the, “ _Evanesco_ ,” from Snape. He probably vanished Harry’s potion to have a reason to give him a zero for the day. Snape then tells the rest of us to turn in a vial of our potion and to write twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making. I turn in my vial and leave the dungeon with Draco, heading up to lunch.

Now I am so much more curious as to why Snape hates Harry so much, and I cannot bite my tongue any longer. “Why does Snape hate Potter so much?” I ask.

Draco laughs and says, “Who doesn’t hate Potter?” I guess I should have seen that one coming. We sit down at the Slytherin table. I turn to get a glimpse of Harry and see him fuming as he talks to his friends – Ron and Hermione, I believe their names are. The two of them seem to be bickering, and suddenly, Harry shouts something at them and storms off, leaving them looking shocked.

“So what did McGonagall want from you anyway?” Draco asks me around his food.

“Wanted to know if I’d ever used the spell before,” I lie.

He stops eating. “That’s how you did it! There I was thinking you were just bloody brilliant!” he laughs. “When did you learn it?”

“For the record, I _am_ bloody brilliant, and don't you forget that,” I say. “As for when I learned it, it was nothing special, just some spills in Durmstrang we couldn’t let anyone discover.”

“So, what’s your next class?” Draco asks.

I look at the schedule given to me by Snape. “Arithmancy. You?”

There is an almost inaudible groan from Draco. “Divination,” he growls, “at least _you_ get to escape the presence of Potter and Weasley. I’m stuck with them and Trelawney’s psychotic rambling.” I chuckle at what I assume is a joke, but I’ve only met Trelawney once, and she had seemed fairly nice – weird, but nice. “You should try to switch to Divination.”

“With Potter, Weasley, and the ‘psychotic rambling’?” I ask. “No, thank you.”

Draco grins. “But you’ll be with me.” Pansy makes a noise that reminds me of sound of a calf dying, and Draco quickly adds, “Besides, it’s better than being with the Mudblood in Arithmancy…”

I throw my head back. “Decisions, decisions…”

Pansy looks at the watch on her wrist. “We have to get going, or we’ll be late.” As she stands up and walks off with Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco, she throws me a glare that would have frightened me had I not already had all fear taken out of me by Voldemort. I smile back at her, and they leave. A few minutes later, I get up from the table and head for the Arithmancy, asking anyone I pass for directions.

The Mudblood Draco so despises and a few others are already in class when I arrive. Not sure what I’m thinking, I sit next to her. “You’re Hermione Granger, right?” I ask, trying to act curious. “Gryffindor?”

She looks at me strangely. “Yeah, who are you? I’ve never seen you in here before.”

I offer my hand. “Charlotte Rodgers, Slytherin, transfer from Durmstrang,” I reply.

She accepts my handshake. “Durmstrang? Did you come last year for the Triwizard Tournament?”

“I wish. I hear it was amazing. Harry Potter was in it, right?” She nods. “You’re his friend. You were sitting with him in Potions. Who was the other boy with you?”

“He’s Ron Weasley. We’ve all been friends since our first year.” I’m not sure if she meant to, but she sounded a little protective…or defensive. I’m not sure exactly which. “Were you the one sitting with Malfoy?”

“Draco? Yeah, he’s one of the only Slytherins I’ve met. Well, him and his group of disciples: Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy.” She doesn’t respond to this. I take a deep breath. “I know we just met, but could you do me a favor?”

She watches me curiously, and I decide to ask anyway. “Next time you see Harry, which I assume will be soon, could you tell him that I believe him about You-Know-Who returning? I know I’ve never met him, but if I were in his shoes, I’d be happy to know someone believed me.”

She slowly nods. “You sure you’re a Slytherin?”

“Didn’t want to be. It’s was the Sorting Hat who did it…” I shake my head. “I think it might have made a mistake.” But deep down, I know the Hat didn’t make a mistake. Somehow I know that I was born to Slytherins, that the majority of my family – if not all of them – have been in Slytherin, that for some reason I am indeed a Slytherin.

“I don’t think anyone besides a family of Dark Wizards wants to be in Slytherin,” Hermione laughs. “After meeting Draco for the first time, I knew Slytherin was not for me. And Snape…ugh, he’s the worst Slytherin of them all!”

After just a moment of my silence, she quickly says, “You don’t like Snape, do you?” I guess she assumes my not answering means I’m offended.

“Oh, not at all. I was thinking back to the first disagreement I had with Snape.” She looks intrigued, and I have a feeling she’s about to ask me what my first disagreement with Snape was. The professor comes into the room and saves me from having to talk about what happened “Let’s just say it’s a story for another time.”

She nods, obviously a little let down. I can only imagine that she had wanted to know something about Snape that she could have told Harry to make him feel better after what happened in Potions. I bring a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink out of my bag and begin taking notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snape's speech was taken from the OOTP, but I no longer have the page number.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte finds herself in danger.

I leave Arithmancy with Hermione. She’s not nearly as bad as Draco made her seem. Granted, she is a know-it-all, which is rather annoying, but I don’t see how being a Mudblood – Muggle-born, I reprimand myself – is anything important. When I see Draco, I say goodbye to her and walk with him toward Defense Against the Dark Arts. Luckily, Draco hadn’t seen us talking, so I’m not bombarded with questions. “Do you think this Umbridge woman is as bad as they say?” I ask quietly. “I don’t think I can handle anymore of that today.”

He casts me a furtive glance. “Of course not,” his voice is confident, “she was once a Slytherin, therefore she can’t be completely incompetent. Sure, she might never be as good as Professor Snape, but she can’t be too bad. It’s the Mudblood, isn’t it? Did she tell you how bad Umbridge is? You know you can’t believe a word she says.”

I catch myself chewing my inner cheek as he says this. “Draco,” I say quietly. He looks at me, wide-eyed and eager. “If-if I were a Mudblood, would you…would you hate me as much as you do Granger?” Draco is kind of an ass, but he’s one of the first people to accept me, ever. I can’t just let that go right now.

Draco stops suddenly and grabs my arm. “You’re not a Mudblood. You shouldn’t even think those things!”

“Draco, I don’t know my father, or my mother. I could easily be a Mudblood…” Why did I just tell him that? No one is supposed to know that – everyone is supposed to believe that my parents sent me here. _How could I be so foolish?_

His other hand grabs my free shoulder. He looks at me square in the face, “If you were a Mudblood, I would know. You’re not one. Don’t worry about it. I know plenty of pureblooded wizards who were scared of having a Squib for a child so they left their families. That’s probably what happened with your family as well. You mustn’t worry.” He smiles reassuringly at me. _Why did he not comment on my slip about my parents?_

I nod silently, and we walk to our Defense Against the Dark Arts class together. Umbridge, wearing a fluffy pink cardigan, is already behind the teacher’s desk, looking over the desks with a wide, creepy grin. “Maybe this class will be worse than I thought…” Draco comments quietly to me.

I sit down beside the Malfoy boy as the rest of the class files in. When we’ve all taken our seats, Umbridge stands and greets us like we five years old again. “Good afternoon!”

Hardly anybody replies. Umbridge then proceeds to rant to us about how when she says “Good afternoon!” we are supposed to reply with “Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge!” We are forced to go through this ritual before Umbridge officially begins class. One of the first things she says is that all of the other teachers before her who had taught the DADA class have put our year behind what the Ministry expects us to be at by this time. I lean over to Draco and quiet whisper, “How many teachers have you had in this class?”

“A new one every year,” he answers in the same low whisper I used.

Umbridge continues, “You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.” She taps the board, and words write themselves for all of us to see.

I write them down.

_Course Aims:_

  1. _Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic._
  2. _Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used._
  3. _Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._



I look around to find that I am basically the only person who does not think this is strange. Even Draco looks confused. Umbridge asks whether or not we have our Ministry-approved text book. The pale-faced boy beside me says under his breath, “This is much worse than I thought. My father _will_ hear about this. This is worse than when the werewolf taught us!”

“You had a werewolf teach you?” And I thought a ghost professor was bad…

“Third year,” he answers dismissively.

“Who else has taught this class?” I whisper.

“Ugh, the writer Gilderoy Lockhart, probably one of the worst except for the werewolf,” Draco informs me. “Then there was the Death Eater Barty Crouch Jr. who pretended to be Alastor Moody.” He adds angrily, “That bastard turned me into a ferret.”

That is definitely a story I must ask about when we have more time.

“I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, ‘Basics for Beginners.’ There is no need to talk,” Umbridge’s voice rings through the classroom.

After a few minutes of reading some of the worst text that I’ve ever had the displeasure of reading, Draco taps my arm. “Look over there.” He’s pointing at Hermione whose hand is in the air, her book closed in front of her. The look on her face says she’s been waiting for a while for Umbridge to notice, possibly since we were first told to begin reading.

Slowly, many of us have put our books aside and are now watching Hermione’s silent attempt to get Umbridge’s attention. When over half of the class has stopped reading, Umbridge decides it is finally worth her while to address the situation. “Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?” she asks Hermione.

“Not about the chapter, no,” Hermione answers.

Draco smirks. “This ought to be good. The Mudblood never questions the professors like this.”

“Really?” I ask. She seems pretty determined now, and I would have assumed she questioned professors on a regular basis. However, she did not act like this in Arithmancy. Perhaps Umbridge just has a way of bringing out the worst in people.

“Yeah, she’s a know-it-all, didn’t you notice? She wants the approval of the professors, tries hard to get it, too, probably because she knows she doesn’t belong here.”

“There’s nothing written up there about _using_ defensive spells.”

“I can’t imagine a time when you would need to use defensive spells in my class, Miss Granger.

“We’re not going to be using magic?” I don’t know who asked this, but whoever it was seems upset. Umbridge quickly reprimands him for talking out of turn.

“That was Weasley,” Draco tells me, just as Umbridge asks what the offender’s name was. “Normally I wouldn’t agree with him, but I fear he has a point, both he and the Mudblood, really.”

“Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?” Hermione tries.

“Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?” Umbridge asks in a falsely sweet voice.

“No, but –”

“Well then, I’m afraid you are not qualified to decide what the ‘whole point’ of any class is –”

“I don't think Umbridge is qualified either, personally,” I mutter to Draco.

He laughs quietly. “I have to agree.”

Umbridge and Hermione argue for a few more minutes, but I don’t hear most of what they say. Draco is talking to me – maybe more to himself than me – about whether or not the “Mudblood” has a point and about how he wants to agree with her but simply cannot due to his principles of always being against the “Mudblood.”

When Umbridge says something about learning in a “risk-free way,” Harry pipes up, automatically criticizing how the real world will never be risk-free, and I try to focus on what’s going on around me.

A lot of students begin asking the same question, because Umbridge swiftly refused to answer Harry’s hand after she told him to raise it. Then she starts criticizing some “half-breed” who once taught the class because he made it too dangerous.

“The half-breed is the werewolf,” Draco silently informs me, now coming to terms with the fact that on this one thing he must agree with Hermione and the other Gryffindors who have spoken out against Umbridge. “His name was Remus Lupin.”

Dean Thomas jumps to the werewolf’s defense. “He was the best we ever –”

“ _Hand!_ ”

“I wouldn’t agree with him on that statement, personally,” Draco adds quietly. “However, he was much better than this joke of a professor.”

“What spells were taught that were inappropriate for our age range?” I ask.

“The boggart,” he growls.

“ _Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!_ ”

I don’t know what gets my blood boiling more: the rude way Umbridge cuts everyone off, or the rude way she refuses to hear reason.

When Harry again speaks up about the real world, I block Draco out completely.

“This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world.”

“So we’re not supposed to be prepared for what’s waiting out there?”

“There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter.”

“Oh yeah?” Sarcasm oozes in his words.

“Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?”

“Hmm, let’s think…maybe _Lord Voldemort_!”

With this, I decide it’s best to tune all of it out. There’s no doubt that Voldemort would want to hurt young witches and wizards our age. I try to put myself in that place under the beech tree while Umbridge preaches to the students that Voldemort has not returned despite Harry refusing what she says. I can’t seem to immerse myself far enough into my mind. I hear Harry yell something about a boy named Cedric Diggory “dropping dead of his own accord.” Harry’s voice betrays his strong front: It’s shaky. Either he’s at the point of heartbreak, or he’s at the point of murder, or a mixture of both. After calling Umbridge a liar, he’s sent from the room, probably to his House leader, McGonagall, and I can finally put the thoughts of Voldemort behind me.

But a sudden, sharp pain rips at my stomach, and without thinking, I grasp Draco’s arm, trying to hold back the vomit I feel coming up. This is much worse than the usual nausea I feel at the thought of Voldemort, and I fear I might lose this battle and spew the contents of my stomach onto the floor. Draco puts his hand over the top of mine. “Do you need me to take you to the hospital wing?”

I don’t open my mouth, afraid that doing so will surely make me lose this battle with my insides, and nod slightly. Draco slips his hand into the air. Umbridge seems reluctant to answer, probably due to the near-riot that almost took place a moment before, until she sees my face, which no doubt looks as sickly as I currently feel. Draco slings both my bag and his bag over his shoulder and walks me out of the classroom. My whole body is generating heat. My eyes are trying to drift shut, and sweat begins to bead on my forehead and to gather on the back of my neck under my long hair. I fear I might spontaneously burst into flames.

We pass the bathroom, and I have to stop Draco so I can run into the room, where I regurgitate everything that was once in my stomach, along with what I register to be blood – and a lot of it.

Stumbling and uneven on my feet, I go to the sink. My curly black hair is frizzy and sweaty, and that sweat is crawling towards my eyes, which were once icy blue but are now dull and sunken in. Red flushes over my pale cheeks, and I nearly vomit more blood at the sight of it. I have to get out of here, and I have to get out of here _now._ I stampede out of the restroom and almost knock Draco over. “Charlotte!” He pulls my right arm around his shoulder and wraps his left arm around my waist. He’s pretty much carrying me to the hospital wing because my legs, not working properly, are almost impossible to move, forcing me to do little more than drag them.

“I’m so sorry, Draco,” I whisper hoarsely.

“No matter,” he says cheerily. “It got us out of class, right?” I nod weakly. “We’re almost there.”

I try to force down the vomit that I feel coming again, but as soon as we step into the hospital wing, it comes out against my will. This time though, it’s all blood. I fall, almost landing in the puddle had Draco not caught me. Madam Pomfrey, the matron nurse at Hogwarts as I soon learn, rushes over to help Draco half-drag, half-walk me over to a bed.

My eyes wander around the room. They land on Draco. I try to apologize again but can’t speak. He slowly becomes more and more blurry until I finally lose all sight and pass out.

 

My eyes fly open. I’m drenched in a cold sweat, and I am alone in this room…the hospital wing, I remember. Through the window, I see the sun setting. _What day is it?_ Torches flicker, causing shadows to jump around the room. I don't like this.

I sit up, and immediately regret it. Fire courses through me and forces me back down with a loud groan of agony. Madam Pomfrey all but materializes in front of me with some kind of potion in her hand. “What happened?” I try to say, but as I do, I’m aware that I’m making no noise.

“Drink this.” A sweet flavor touches my tongue and slides down my throat. Sleep instantly takes over me.

When I wake the next time, I’m surprised to hear the voices of Draco, Dumbledore, and Snape, but not Madam Pomfrey. The two professors sound troubled. Keeping my eyes closed, I listen to their hushed voices. “Did you see who did it?” The voice is Snape’s.

“No,” a trembling voice I recognize to be Draco’s answers. “She just grabbed my arm out of nowhere.”

“Headmaster,” Snape begins.

Dumbledore cuts him off. “You know what I think of your theory. We cannot throw the blame on anyone yet.”

“They tried to kill her!” he says furiously. “And they would have accomplished it had they been more practiced!”

“Severus,” Dumbledore’s voice carries a command of silence.

I feel a cold hand touch my arm. Daring to open my eye enough to investigate who is touching me, I see Draco. He looks about as sickly as I did yesterday, with sunken eyes and an unusually pale face. “Draco, go to class,” Dumbledore orders. The boy seems to be on the brink of arguing, but one look from Snape stops him, and he obeys and leaves the room.

Once the door closes, Snape growls, “She’s lucky to be alive.”

“I understand your frustration, Severus,” Dumbledore replies.

“No, you don’t!” Snape spits quietly. “You’re not the one who will be killed if she ends up dead while at the school! And you and I both know that _my_ death will ruin _your_ plans.”

What plans could Dumbledore possibly have for Snape? Why would Dumbledore trust Snape with any sort of plans?

The two of them are silent for a few moments before Dumbledore tells Snape to go to the dungeons for Potions class because the students will be waiting. The only thing I know about my situation is that someone wants me dead. I can’t think of anyone who knows me well enough to hate me so much they want to kill me, at least not here at Hogwarts. This place was supposed to be safe for me. Perhaps Dumbledore and Snape will hear my pleas and let me leave, for my own safety of course. I absolutely have no other reasons for wanting to leave Hogwarts. I crack open me eyes. “I was wondering when curiosity would force you to open your eyes,” the headmaster says to me.

“What happened?” my voice is working once more, but only just.

“You were hit with a weak – very weak, mind you – Entrail-Expelling Curse. It’s uncertain whether the attack was meant for you or if it was a slip of the tongue.” I open my mouth to ask a question, but either Dumbledore doesn’t notice or he simply ignores me, because he goes on, “It has happened in the past that a curse is used without the caster knowing what they’re doing. If someone did mean it for you, they are probably untrained practitioners of the Dark Arts.” He looks at me over the top of his half-moon spectacles, “I, for one, doubt there is any such witch or wizard here; nevertheless, we will find out what happened and set it right again.”

“How…what…” I can’t form the question I want to, and Dumbledore waits patiently while I try to form my question. After a few minutes, I finally force out, “What did the curse do to me exactly?”

“It tore at your stomach and intestines in an attempt to rip your insides out,” – that explains the pain and all of the blood – “which is why I don’t believe it was done purposely. Had someone indeed meant to cast it at you, you would not have survived.”

I nod slowly. “So…I’ll be okay?”

“Oh, yes,” he says, “Madam Pomfrey healed you quite easily. She’s a master of healing, that woman. But you will need to drink this.” He hands me a goblet. “It’s a Blood-Replenishing Potion. You lost quite a lot.” I put the potion to my lips, and it fills my mouth with a warm, metallic sensation and coats my throat with soft velvet.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Madam Pomfrey says, “you must leave now. Miss Rodgers needs to rest.” I don’t quite understand this because I’ve been unconscious what seems like a while. So why do I need more rest? I don’t voice this of course; I just smile the best I can at Dumbledore as he leaves the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey looks at me and commands in a soft but firm voice, “Finish the potion.” I start drinking it down, the velvet feeling quite welcome but making me realize more than ever just how dry my throat is. “It’s a good thing Professor Snape was willing to make some more of the Blood-Replenishing Potion. I don’t think we would have had enough.” Her voice is casual, but I don't trust Snape and I cough the potion up, spewing out just a little. If Snape made it, it could very well kill me. But it’s too late now, I suppose. If I die, I die. There’s not much I can do at this point.

I hand the empty goblet back and in return receive a cup of clear liquid that I assume is water until I taste its sweetness. It’s the same stuff I had earlier, which means I am about to be taken into another sleep. And sure enough, I feel the slumber pulling at me once more.

The next time I wake up, Madam Pomfrey is sitting in a chair beside my bed. Through the window I can see the sun high in the sky. Whether it’s the same day as before or if I’ve been asleep for more than twelve hours, I don’t know. So I ask in a weak voice, “What day is it?”

The matron of the hospital wing smiles at me. “It’s Wednesday. I gave you enough of the Dreamless Sleep Potion so your body could rest and the Blood-Replenishing Potion could run its course with no resistance.”

“Oh,” I say quietly. My first week of classes and I’ve already missed the entire second day. What a wonderful way to start this term.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks.

“A little sore, but fine other than that,” I answer. I’m not lying, but that’s not the full truth. I am nauseated at the fact that I drank a potion made by Snape, yet I don’t think that’s worth mentioning.

She smiles at me. “Well, if you take it easy, you are free to go,” she tells me. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “A Mr. Draco Malfoy came by not too long ago to check on you. You were asleep, so I thought there no point for him to wait around. He said he’ll be in the Great Hall.”

“Thank you,” I stand up and walk slowly from the hospital wing.

The only people who have ever tried to kill me were Death Eaters (not because they were supposed to, but because I would fight back or try to run rather than “come quietly”). I don't understand how any of them would have found me in here. I am supposed to be safe at Hogwarts. That was the whole reason I was forced here, so it doesn’t make sense that I would be attacked inside the walls. Besides, the only Death Eaters who know I am here should be the Malfoys and Snape. None of the others should have any clue. And in any case, if they have found me here at Hogwarts, surely they would not be trying to kill me. With Voldemort back and alive, he would want me protected. Death Eaters trying to kill me now makes no sense.

Unless that Death Eater is Snape. Would he be willing to kill me to get out of whatever plans Dumbledore has for him?

Probably not.

But I still don't trust him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue in the Umbridge scene came from the book.


	8. Chapter 8

Very slowly, I walk to the Great Hall, struggling not to wince with each step. I really should be going as quickly as I can to the Slytherin Dungeons. This could be my chance to hide away for a while. Or better yet, this is my chance to try convincing Snape to let me leave Hogwarts. But after Snape’s conversation with Dumbledore…the old wizard has plans for the Death Eater, plans that require said Death Eater to be _alive._ And if I am injured, apparently Voldemort will punish Snape. Leaving Hogwarts will put me in more danger. At this rate, I will never get out of this place.

Draco and his followers are still at the Slytherin table when I enter the Great Hall. I can't help but smile at the Malfoy boy. For the first time in a long while, someone actually cared about me when I was injured, possibly dying. I wasn’t just left alone in a pool of my own blood. Draco Malfoy helped me get to the hospital wing when he could have abandoned me like all the others in my life did.

 As I make my way over to the Slytherins, I watch the blond-haired boy, who seems to be eating extra slowly while Pansy chatters away excitedly. He looks up and catches my eye, looks back to Pansy, then does a double-take. Without a second glance at Pansy, he stands up quickly and comes toward me, only to abruptly stop in front of me. “Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” I answer.

Before giving me any sort of warning, he pulls me into a swift hug and releases me just as quickly. He clears his throat, and I ignore the pink that covers his cheeks and silently hope that mine are not as red as his. “Would you like something to eat?” he asks me. I nod, and he leads me to the table, where he sits down beside me instead of Pansy. She, in turn, storms out of the room while giving me a deadly glare.

“What’d I miss yesterday?” I ask before taking a swig of my juice.

“Herbology – no regrets there – with Ravenclaw and Sprout,” he answers. “Transfiguration with Gryffindor – we have a double class of it with them on Tuesday. Care of Magical Creatures with Gryffindor; at least that brainless oaf Hagrid is not teaching this term. One can only hope he won’t be back again. And History of Magic with Binns.”

“The second day of classes, and I missed the whole day…” I push my plate away, the pain ruining any appetite.

“Don’t feel too bad,” he tries to comfort me. “You’ll be fine in Transfiguration; we’re still on the Vanishing Spell. Herbology is probably not a class you’ll take after this year; the same goes for Care of Magical Creatures. Both of those classes are jokes, really. And don’t get me started on History of Magic – who lets a ghost teach a class?” He snorts and answers his own question, “The same git who let a werewolf teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

I ignore this and instead say, “What’s left today?”

“Charms with Flitwick, Care of Magical Creatures – looks like you didn’t get out of that after all,” he says, “oh, and Astronomy later. We’ve already had Divination – or Arithmancy, I think, since you don’t take Divination – and Herbology.” He pulls a pocket watch from his robes. “Are you done eating? We’re going to be late for Charms.” I nod, not having eaten much to begin with, and we leave the Great Hall and walk to class extra slowly so as not to cause me more discomfort than necessary.

“Pansy doesn’t like me much, does she?” I say suddenly, so suddenly that I don’t even know where it came from. It’s not like it even matters, because I don’t care too much for her either.

“I don’t know,” Draco answers. “There’s a lot that Pansy doesn’t like.”

“Other than you of course,” I quip, biting back the temptation to say the same about how he and his parents like very little when it comes to Hogwarts.

Draco grins. “Yeah, there’s that, I guess. But she’s always been like that.” I don't comment again.

“I need to know one thing,” I say gravely.

He looks at me intently. “Anything.”

“How were you turned into a ferret?”

A smile breaks his serious expression, and a small laugh escapes him. “It was fourth year, during the Triwizard Tournament. Alastor Moody – well, really, he was Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise – got angry at me for some ridiculous reason,” I imagine there was an actual reason that Draco does not want to talk about, “and turned me into a ferret as ‘punishment.’ McGonagall stepped in. That’s pretty much all that happened with that.”

“Oh, really?” I ask skeptically, grinning widely.

“Sorry it’s not more of a flashy story.”

“So what was it like, being a ferret?”

“I don't want to talk about it,” he laughs.

When we get to class, Flitwick, much like his colleagues, spends the first few minutes pounding into our brains the importance of O.W.L.s. I don’t say anything, but it’s really beginning to get annoying to hear the same spiel over and over. For most of the class, we review Summoning Charms, which I’ve never really had too much practice with, but I’ve done it a few times nonetheless. I mostly just talk to Draco about the other classes and his problems with the professors throughout the duration of our time in Charms. Luckily for Draco, we are in the back of the classroom – thanks to my overly slow pace because of my recent trip to the hospital wing – and because we are in the back of the class, no one pays much attention to our quiet chatter.

“The half-breed Hagrid who usually teaches Care of Magical Creatures is away on some mission for Dumbledore. Hopefully Grubbly-Plank will take over the class completely.”

“Is Hagrid really that bad?”

“He very nearly got me killed,” Draco states. “But that is a story for another time, when I can explain everything without worrying about someone interrupting me.” He glances around the room ruefully. “Some people pretend it was my fault. I was the victim.”

“I know what that’s like,” I sigh.

He looks at me curiously.

“Stories for another time,” I say softly.

“‘Stories’? Plural?”

“Oh yes, quite a few stories, actually.” I look around to make sure no one is listening. “But some of them, I must admit, were my fault entirely.”

“Scandalous.”

“I’ll tell you all about it at some point,” I reply with a wink.

After Charms, we have Care of Magical Creatures, which is pretty boring and uneventful. This will be one of the classes I simply hate, I can already feel it.

“Is it this bad with Hagrid teaching?” I ask him.

“It’s worse with that dim oaf teaching,” Draco replies confidently.

At dinner, everyone is still gossiping about the fight between Umbridge and Harry even though it happened two days ago. Draco seems overly frustrated that everyone wants to talk about Harry and makes it a point not to enter any conversation about the Potter boy, which is weird because he is usually so ready to complain about Harry. I don't understand why standing up to Umbridge is such a big deal. I just don't get it. So I remain quiet throughout the meal.

I don't speak again until we are sitting in the Slytherin common room and working on this tedious homework we have been assigned. “So what’s your family like?” I ask.

“I’m an only child, which is both a blessing and a curse, I suppose. We come from a long line of wealth,” he says, “which is the blessing. Everything will go to me someday. But sometimes I wonder if I missed out, not having siblings and all. Unfortunately, I didn’t even have cousins my age either. So it was all…well, I didn’t really have any mates growing up, really, until I came to Hogwarts.”

“Are your parents both only children as well then?”

He chuckles quietly. “No, just my father. My mother, on the other hand, has two sisters. One of them is a blood traitor – she married a Mudblood, the fool. They have a daughter, but…we don’t talk much about them. The other sister, well, she was a devout follower of the Dark Lord in her time. She and her husband and his brother are all serving life in Azkaban for something; my parents don't speak of it. They never had children; it was not a happy marriage from what I hear.”

His whole family is comprised of psychopaths who blindly follow Voldemort. Wow.

“So what about yours? You said something about not knowing who your mother and father are. What happened?”

I guess he didn’t miss my slip up the other day. “Well, honestly, I don’t know much about what happened.”

“Tell me what you know then.”

I roll my eyes but prepare to answer anyways. “Well, my father bailed on my mother and me when I was a baby –”

“Rodgers,” Snape’s voice is quiet, but right behind me.

Slowly, I turn to see the Slytherin professor impatiently waiting for me, his hands behind his back. “You could have warned me he was behind me, Draco,” I whisper. Then I look back at Snape. “Yes, Professor?”

“I need you to come with me.” He is staring so intently at me that I do not even consider putting up a fight. Draco stands as if to follow us, but Snape stops him with a, “I don’t believe I asked for you, Mr. Malfoy.” The Malfoy boy gives me a sympathetic smile as I turn and follow Snape from the Slytherin common room, making sure to remain just a few paces behind him.

I enter Snape’s office completely for the first time. Last time I almost entered, Snape caught me and wanted to kill me, so I never dreamt of actually entering. Now I have willingly gone into his office and am trapped in here. At least others will be able to hear me screaming if he tries to hurt me. He motions me to the seat in front of his desk, and I oblige. Though his office is dimly lit, I can see the walls lined with shelves that house what I can only hope are potion ingredients, most of which look revolting. There is much more on the shelves than I thought at first glance just a few days ago.

Snape sits down across from me. “Tell me,” he begins in a commanding voice, “does anyone here besides you, Professor Dumbledore, and myself know about your duty to the Dark Lord?”

“No,” I answer, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.

“No, _sir_ , Rodgers,” he reprimands me immediately with a cold tone.

“No, _sir_ , Professor Snape,” I say in my best imitation of his voice.

He scowls at me. “Are you sure no one else knows? I see you are becoming close to Draco. Have you told him?”

“No, _sir_ , Professor Snape,” I reply curtly, still imitating voice, “I haven't.”

He scowls again. “You’re lying to me. Someone knows.”

“What makes you think _I_ told them?” I snarl at him, no longer mimicking his voice. “Who says it wasn’t you? Or Dumbledore?”

“Keep your voice down,” he commands. Then he waves his wand at the door. I assume this is to keep it silent for those who might walk by. There goes my one protection from Snape. No one will hear me if he loses his temper at me…

Pushing down my ever rising anger and fear, I ask, “Why do you think someone knows?”

“Because otherwise they wouldn’t have tried to kill you.” He says this like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“Dumbledore said –”

“ _Professor_ Dumbledore,” he corrects.

“He said that it was an accident.”

“The headmaster likes to see the best in people. I believe someone failed while trying to rid the world of you.” His black eyes bear into me. “Who did you tell?”

I hop out of my chair and slam my hand onto his desk. “Like I’ve already told you, _Professor_ ,” I growl so as not to shout, “I haven't told anyone. Not. One. Single. Soul.” I turn and go to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a Potions essay to write for my git of a professor.” I yank at the door, but it doesn’t open. I yank again. “Let me out.”

“Not yet,” Snape answers, “we’re not done discussing this issue.”

 I spin on my heel to look at him. “What issue? I’ve already explained to you that I haven't told anyone!” I clench my teeth and add, strictly for good measure, “And if I decide to tell someone, I think I would have the right! After all, it is my life Voldemort’s turning to hell! Not yours! Not theirs! NOT DUMBLEDORE’S! NOT HIS OWN! MINE! IT’S MY LIFE HE’S GOING TO RUIN!”

“ _You don’t understand the repercussions of your actions!_ ” Snape snaps back at me, rising to his feet. “ _I could lose my life because of your inability to hold your tongue!_ ” He closes his eyes for a second. He seems calmer when he opens them again. “The Dark Lord requires your safety. There are bigger things happening than just you.”

I feel the fury rising once again. “Like you, Snape?” I bark. “Is that what’s more important than me? Your life? Because I disagree! I don’t think you are any more important than me!”

Snape sits back in his chair. “I am. I have always been one of the most important of the Dark Lord’s followers. He can find another young witch to bear his child. He cannot find another to fill my position with Albus Dumbledore. Albus trusts me completely. You are dispensable. I am not.”

I take my wand out and, leaning across his desk, shove it against his throat. Snape doesn’t even flinch. “Your mission for Voldemort might be more important, but I assure you that your life is not! My soul is not tainted by blood of innocent people, Snape! Yours is!” My wand shakes slightly. “You are no better than Voldemort! Except Voldemort isn’t a COWARD! He risks himself for his cause, despite how disgusting his cause is! You sit in Dumbledore’s lap like a dog and call yourself important!” I force myself to ignore the shaking of my wand and continue, “I am terrified beyond belief about my duty to Voldemort, but I have accepted that I have no escape! But it seems to me – and some of the other Death Eaters, mind you – that you keep looking for any sign of escape yours!

“You call yourself indispensable to Voldemort, yet you sit here cowering behind Dumbledore, cowering away from Voldemort because you fear for your life! You act like you nobly care about what happens to me, but you only try to protect me because Voldemort will kill you if I wind up dead! You’re a coward!”

Snape is on his feet before I can stop him, his wand drawn. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” My wand flies into the air, soars to the other side of the desk, and lands in Snape’s hand. “Do _not_ call me a coward,” he snarls. “I do more than you can ever imagine. I risk myself more than you think.”

“Give me my wand,” I say coldly.

“Who have you told? Someone wants you dead, and that’s the only reasonable explanation as to why.” He lowers his wand.

“People do not need a ‘reasonable’ explanation for wanting to kill others,” I say quietly.

“Does Potter know?”

I pause, taken aback. “Potter? I’ve known him all of three days. I’ve never even spoken to him! Why do you think –”

“No reason,” he cuts me off. “But you must have told someone! Someone must have found out! Do you talk in your sleep?”

“I don’t know!” My hands fly to into my hair, a habit I do when I’m stressed that I have never been able to break. “I-I don’t think so. I can’t…I can’t be sure…”

“Telling someone in your sleep is no better than telling them while awake! Both ways risk the mission. You have no right to share this information, no matter how it is done.”

I take a deep breath and say softly, ignoring the stinging in my eyes, the burning in my throat, and the cracking in my voice, “I have the right to lean on someone when I need help, when I can’t walk down this road any longer, when I can’t take even the thought of Voldemort without wanting to die, when –”

“Okay,” he says quietly. “I believe you. You haven't told anyone.”

Slowly, I sit down in the chair across from Snape. Tears flow freely down my cheeks, but I keep my sobbing silent. “I…I can’t…I can’t do this alone.” I take a deep breath to calm myself. “So…when the time comes…and I can’t go on…and I need a rock to lean on…I _will_ tell someone. It might be Draco; it might not. I don’t know. But I will tell whom I see fit.”

Snape shifts uncomfortably before placing my wand on his desk. I tentatively pick it up and slowly stand to my feet. “Rodgers,” Snape says.

“Yes, professor?” I answer.

Snape makes it a point not to look me in the eye. “I already know about your duty to the Dark Lord,” he begins, “so if you find yourself in need of someone to talk to, it would be a better idea to come to someone who already knows rather than destroying your cover, would it not?”

I look away from him. “No offense, Professor Snape, but I don’t think it’s best for me to go to someone with whom my relationship is built on hate.” I clear my throat awkwardly. “But thank you.” Again, I go for the door.

“Then Professor Dumbledore, perhaps? He knows as well…so that wouldn’t ruin your cover,” Snape suggests.

I keep my back to him. “I don’t think Dumbledore is the best person to go to.”

“He’s a good man, and a good wizard. I really must insist that you go to him,” Snape tries again.

“I don’t think going to the headmaster over my woes of Voldemort and childbearing is the best idea,” I counter. I put my hand on the door, half expecting it to be locked by charms again, but Snape has removed them, and I leave his office.

I all but run back to the Slytherin common room. I take my seat by Draco, who looks expectantly at me. When I don’t say anything, he finally asks, “Well…what was that about?”

“He wanted to know if the potions he brewed for the hospital wing while I was in there worked or not.”

“Professor Snape wanted to know if his potions worked?” Draco asks incredulously.

“Weird, right?” I reach for my parchment and quill but find that they are not there. “Where did my things go?”

“I packed them for you. Astronomy is tonight, remember? We need to get going, or we’ll be late.”

Smiling at him, I reply, “I wasn’t really planning on going.” I don't want to be in a large group of students right now. I won't be able to handle it. But I keep this to myself. Better to have him think of me as some Slytherin rebel than to think of me a teenage girl who does not like being around a group of people for long periods of time because she spent the last five years almost in total isolation as a way of hiding from Death Eaters who want to kill her.

He smirks back at me. “What a wonderful idea. I like the way you think.” He sets his bag, which had previously been on his shoulder, back onto the table. “Any ideas of where we should go for the time being?”

“Not a clue,” I answer. “I don’t know much of Hogwarts to be honest,” mostly because I was trying to avoid Snape and McGonagall during the two weeks when I should have been exploring the castle and its grounds.

He stands and offers me his hand to help me up. “I know the perfect place.”

I accept his hand, and he pulls me to my feet. “Lead the way,” I say.

Instead of releasing my hand as I had expected him to do once I was on my feet, he laces his fingers through mine, then looks at me as if waiting for me to pull away. When I don’t, he smiles at me and leads me to the door of the Slytherin Dungeon. We completely ignore the looks of the younger Slytherins around us. I can’t help but glance at Snape’s office door as I walk hand-in-hand with Draco from the dungeons, somewhat hoping that he will walk out of his office and see me with Draco. The bitter professor would probably assume that I’ll go babbling away to the boy. And I might, I’ve not yet decided.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte continues to purposefully push Snape's buttons.

Draco has been walking in silence since the moment we left the common room to ditch our first Astronomy class of the semester, and I can hardly stand my desperate need to know where he’s taking me. We’re almost to the fourth floor, and yet he still has not said a thing about our destination other than “you’ll love it.”

But that is simply not good enough for me, it does not squelch my curiosity.

On many occasions already I’ve had to restrain myself from literally begging to know where he’s taking me, and I almost think he knows this because he simply continues trying to make it harder for me to contain my curiosity. He keeps saying things like “you’ll never believe where we’re going” or “my father told me about it” or “I’ll be surprised if you’ve ever been there before, given what you’ve told me already.”

I give his hand a slight squeeze. “Come on, Draco,” I try again, “just tell me where we’re going.”

“You’ve never heard of it anyway,” he counters. “Even if I’ll tell you, you’ll have no idea what I’m talking about.”

I frown at him and step closer, closing the small gap that had been between us. “How much farther?” I whisper.

“Not far now,” he whispers back.

“Why are we whispering?” I question, keeping my voice just as quiet as before.

“I don’t know,” his voice is still very soft, very breathy, “I was just following your lead.”

I ask him normally, “So, am I going to enjoy this mystery place?”

His voice is still a whisper when he answers, “Yes. Why aren’t we whispering anymore? You should really make up your mind.”

“I’m a fickle person; I can’t help it,” I whisper back.

“Now you’re back to your whisper voice,” he comments, still just as quietly as he was moments ago. “You’re going to give me whiplash.”

“Then you will probably have deserved it.”

He smirks at me but does not reply. A moment later we ascend the steps to the seventh floor. “Closer than ever now.” He has finally stopped talking in a hushed tone.

We stop in front of a stone wall. “What is this?” I ask. “There’s nothing here…”

“Give me a moment,” he says in answer. A few seconds later, a large door appears in the wall. “This is the Room of Requirement.”

“And what do you require at the moment?”

He flashes his white teeth at me. “A place to spend time with a pretty girl…” He begins frantically looking up and down the corridor. “I wonder when she’s going to get here…” I nudge against him, laughing. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

I am surprised to find the room completely empty when we enter. Well, it is not _completely_ empty (there is one door on the wall straight ahead of us), but other than that, this place is deserted. Draco does not seem bothered in the least, so I can only assume that he has a plan. I look over to find him smiling at me. “We’re almost there.”

“Does that mean this isn't it?”

“Not quite. This was just a…bridge to the place we’re going.” Draco leads me to the door on the far side of the room and opens it to reveal a large tunnel. “Just wait,” he says, answering my unspoken question. He tightens his grip on my hand, and we start our way through this rock corridor.

My free hand instinctively searches my robes for my wand. I will not walk down what looks to be nothing more than a black hole without knowing precisely where my wand is.

“Are you carting me off somewhere so you can kill me?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The son of a Death Eater does not want to kill me. Oh, if only he knew who I was. But I don't want to tell him. So far he has accepted me, and I don't want to ruin that. This is the first friendship I have had in five years, and I will not lose it because of who I am.

“We’re here,” Draco says, anticipation filling his voice. He slowly pushes open what looks almost like a door, but somehow obviously isn't a door, and we enter a pub. Draco closes the entrance, which I now see is a painting. Roughly three people are here at this pub, but none of them even give us a glance. Draco leads me to a table on the far side of the pub.

“We’ve got nearly an hour,” he informs me after looking at his pocket watch. He waves the bartender over. “Two butterbeers.”

“How did you know the Room of Requirement connected to – what is this place?” I ask.

“My father as told me stories about the room from his days at Hogwarts,” he answers. “And this is the Hog’s Head. It’s a pub in Hogsmeade, not the most popular but definitely the most private. I would have taken you to [Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Madam_Puddifoot%27s_Tea_Shop), but that’s too crowded. Besides, I prefer getting butterbeer here as opposed to there.” The bartender places two glasses on our table. “There’s also another pub, the Three Broomsticks, but I prefer this one.”

We both take a sip of our drinks.

“So, what did Professor Snape really want to talk to you about?” Draco asks. At my choking on the butterbeer, he adds, “Yes, I knew it was a lie but didn’t want to push you for answers in the common room, not with all of those prying ears around.”

“Well,” I say, choosing my words very carefully, “he…he told me that they found Karkaroff,” which is a complete lie, but I have a feeling Voldemort will kill him soon anyway, so it won’t be a lie for too long. “He was dead.”

Draco reaches across the table and takes my hand comfortingly. “I never asked you…were you close to him? I know during the Triwizard Tournament he really only seemed to care about Krum.”

“No, not really,” I answer, which is only half of a lie. I’m not, nor have I ever been, close to Karkaroff. Not because he only cared about Krum but because I never knew him. Draco pulls his hand back. “So what exactly did your father say about the Room of Requirement?”

“Just that he stumbled across it while he attended Hogwarts. They used to hide things in there, and when he was older a few of them would come down here at night to get away from the place.”

“So your father attended Hogwarts?” With all of the complaints about the place, I would have assumed Draco’s parents had had nothing to do with Hogwarts until Draco had to attend.

“Oh, yes, both of my parents went to Hogwarts. Both were Slytherins. That’s how they met, actually. My father was a prefect.”

“You’re one too, right?”

“Yes.” Pride floods his voice. “My parents were thrilled. But it was no surprise. Snape has always been close to my family. He came to Hogwarts when my father was a prefect, so my father kind of took Snape under his wing, you know? Helped steer him in the right direction.” I don’t say anything, but Draco has all but admitted that his father is a Death Eater. I can’t help but wonder if Draco has pieced together the fact that Snape is one, too. “So what do you know about your parents? You were interrupted earlier.”

“Well, somehow I have this feeling that they were Slytherins, like us. I don’t know what happened to my father after he abandoned us, but I know that my mother died in Azkaban. I don’t know why she was there…” I drift off, not wanting to talk too much about how both of my parents abandoned me in some way. “I grew up in an orphanage after my great-uncle deposited me there because he felt that he couldn’t handle raising me. I escaped when I found out I was a witch. Taught myself magic until a childless couple found me and took me to Durmstrang.” Why do I feel bad for lying to him?

For obvious reasons, I don’t mention how his father hunted me down and captured me.

I quickly change the subject. “So how did you almost die in Care of Magical Creatures?”

He smiles and begins his story, his voice dramatic, “It was a normal day in third year. Little Draco and his friends were wasting their time in the oaf’s class as we were forced to do far too often. Only this time was different. This time it was dangerous. Then again, the half-breed’s class was always dangerous. We were standing around, watching while the half-wit tried explaining to us the devil creature that is a hippogriff. This particular one had a name: Buckbeak.” He raises his eyebrows theatrically. “Little Draco was simply asking the monster – ‘monster’ here meaning the professor, of course – when Harry Potter, the Demon Who Lived, possessed a hippogriff to charge at me and knock me down. Pinned down and helpless, I could do nothing as the beast’s eyes flared red. Its hoof slammed into me, trying to rip me open, while Potter and his friends laughed.” He takes a deep breath before lifting the butterbeer to his lips. “I could have been killed had my friends not batted the beast away.”

This story is so obviously a lie – albeit, one that has entertained me – that I don't even know what to say besides, “What happened next?”

“They actually blamed me! My father tried to get the creature executed, but Potter and his friends found a way to set it free. The creature who tried to kill me is lurking out there somewhere,” Draco finishes. “So that’s the story of when I was a victim who was blamed for what happened to me. Tell me one of yours.”

I look down at my hands. “None of mine are as humorous as yours.”

Draco is quiet for a moment before saying, “You don't have to talk about them if you don't want to.”

“How about this,” I begin, “I promise to tell you one day, if you pay for the butterbeers.”

He nods. “I was planning on paying anyway, but I will take that deal.”

We both finish our butterbeers and push them aside. “Well,” he says, “I would take you to explore Hogsmeade, but I’m afraid we’re low on time.”

“That’s fine,” I say cheerily. “I’ve enjoyed just being out of the castle. I’ve been trapped in there so long I feared I would forget what the real world looked like!”

“I can always show you the place during the next Hogsmeade weekend,” he suggests with a smile. “All those third year and above are allowed to come down here on certain weekends.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I agree.

Draco places the payment for our drinks on the table and stands, again offering me his arm. I take it gladly, and we walk back to the painting. The pub’s patrons still remain oblivious to us, which I must admit unnerves me a bit, but with the bartender in the back and the few people here so engrossed in their drinks that they don’t seem to see two teenagers walking around, we slip back through the portrait-door without any problem.

“If your parents hate Hogwarts so much, why didn’t they send you elsewhere?”

“Believe me, my father wanted me to go to Durmstrang, but my mother was firmly against me being that far from her.” He sighs. “Just think about it, we could have met years ago had my mother let me go to Durmstrang. Then I could have avoided the Weasleys, the Mudblood, and Potter.” Poor, misguided Draco. Again, I have a twinge of guilt for lying to him. But it’s not like I ever really tell the truth, so I don't know why it bothers me so much now.

We’ve almost made it back to the Room of Requirement when he quietly says, “I’m glad you had the idea to skip Astronomy.”

“And I’m glad you thought to go to the Hog’s Head,” I reply. “And just think, we could have been trapped in the Astronomy Tower rather than in this cozy tunnel!”

Draco laughs softly, stopping at the door leading out of the tunnel, turns to me, and says, “I had a really nice time.”

“Me too,” I tell him.

His free hand reaches up and caresses my cheek. For a second I think he’s going to kiss me, but there is a loud bang from down the corridor towards the Hog’s Head, and we both jolt at the sound. Grabbing me by the hand, he pulls me out of the corridor and through the Room of Requirement as fast as possible.

We arrive back at the Slytherin Dungeon before most of our Astronomy class has returned, so there aren’t many people in the common room. Draco pulls me into a warm embrace. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he wraps his arms around my waist. I bury my head into the crook of his neck. “Goodnight,” he whispers in my ear.

“Goodnight,” I reply. He releases me, and we go our separate ways, Draco to the fifth-year boys’ dormitory and me to the fifth-year girls’ dormitory. Perhaps my duration at Hogwarts will not be as dreadful as I first imagined.

I briskly ready myself for bed, hop onto the mattress, pull the covers over me, and close the curtains around me, blocking myself from the others when they return. I shut my eyes, wondering how Draco could possibly be the son of Lucius Malfoy.

 

The next morning flies by, and before I know it, I’m sitting in the Great Hall next to Draco, our hands locked together under the table. Pansy’s eyes continuously flutter to us, growing bitter with each passing second. “Where were you during Astronomy last night?”

I look surprised as I say to Draco, “You weren’t in class last night?”

His face drops. “No…I…er…I skipped. I was with Professor Snape. There was some…er…things I needed to talk to him about.”

Pansy frowns at him. “You’re lying.” Then she looks at me with piercing eyes. “Where were you?”

“Hospital wing,” I answer smoothly, having already been prepared for Pansy’s interrogation. I guess I should have given Draco some kind of warning, but it slipped my mind. Oh well. “Madam Pomfrey wanted to check on me, make sure I’m okay. I was in there all day on Tuesday, you know.”

Her eyes dart back to Draco. “Are you sure that that’s not where you were, Draco?”

“Positive,” he answers quickly. Pansy doesn’t seem satisfied, and she gets up to storm from the Great Hall, presumably going to class.

Our only classes today are Potions, Arithmancy – well, Draco and the rest of his friends have Divination – and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and they’re all with Gryffindor. Potions is our first class, but it doesn’t start for nearly half an hour. “So anyway,” Draco says, turning to me, “the Quidditch tryouts are Saturday. You should come by.”

“I might just do that,” I reply.  “What position are you?” The only time I have ever paid much attention to Quidditch was when there was literally no other form of entertainment, but at least now I have a basic idea of what Quidditch is and how to play it.

“Seeker,” he says proudly. “Crabbe and Goyle are going to try to be Beaters.”

Crabbe and Goyle cheer like they know they already have the position.

“How long have you been on the Quidditch team?” I ask him.

“Since my second year,” Draco proudly answers. “I would have made it on the team my first year, but there are rules against it. Then he adds bitterly, “Of course, that didn’t stop them from bending the rules for Potter.”

“Would you expect any less?” Crabbe growls. “He’s _the Chosen One_ or whatever they like to call him now. Honestly, Dumbledore would allow him to do just about anything. As if he’s something special. He got lucky against You-Know-Who. A baby defeating the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time? Please. Hufflepuff stands a better chance of winning Quidditch Cup.”

I imagine this is some sort of insult to Hufflepuff, because everyone around Crabbe begins laughing. “Dumbledore just treats Potter with special privileges because he pities him. But it’s not like he’s the only student in Hogwarts who has doesn’t have a family,” Draco says.

I silently thank Goyle when he steers the conversation back to Quidditch, which distracts the Slytherins around me so thoroughly I can keep quiet and too myself. I don't think Draco meant anything by his last comment, but I simply don't feel like speaking anymore because of it.

Shortly after this we head back to the dungeons for Snape’s class. Draco and I are again holding hands, and I silently hope Snape sees. I could use a good laugh, and I’m sure seeing Draco and me together will make him nervous, in which case he’ll act odd. No one will know what’s wrong, but I will. He’ll be afraid I’ve told Draco about Voldemort’s plan. He’ll be afraid Voldemort will punish him. And would I really be against Snape being punished? He’s an arse who doesn’t think my life matters, so why should I be concerned for his?

To my great amusement, when we walk into Snape’s classroom, his eyes land on my hand, which is still in Draco’s. I smirk at the professor, who clenches his teeth together in response. I can see a well-controlled panic in eyes, but it fades moments after Draco and I take our seats in the front.

I am too elated by Snape’s anger to pay any attention to the rest of the class. Sure, I have this fear in the back of my mind that Snape might inform Lord Voldemort of this…thing…I have with Draco, but I’m not sure if he would do that. If Lucius Malfoy and Snape truly respect each other, I don't think Snape would allow Draco to be put into that kind of danger. Or would he? I don't know. Would Snape be blamed for not putting a stop to it? Or would he be commended for giving over this information?

Oh no. Perhaps messing with Snape was not the best idea I’ve had. I should have thought this through.

“I guess I’ll see you for lunch then,” Draco says.

I’m brought back to the present, and I look over at him. “Sorry, what?”

“You’ve been quiet. Is something wrong?”

“No, just…lost in my thoughts.”

He watches me for a second before letting it go. “You have Arithmancy, right?”

“Um, yeah, yeah, I have Arithmancy.”

“So I’ll see you at lunch then,” he replies with a smile. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I promise. I’ll see you later, okay?” We part ways.

I walk over to Hermione in the Arithmancy room. “Hi,” I say to her. “What did I miss Tuesday?”

She looks over at me with an odd look, probably trying to figure out why I vanished for a whole day during my first week of classes her at Hogwarts. “The importance of O.W.L.s,” she says. “You have this class, too?”

“Yeah, I refuse to take Divination.”

“Where were you Tuesday?” I sit down at a table with her. Here it goes, her curiosity. “The last time I saw you, you were leaving Defense Against the Dark Arts with Malfoy.”

“Oh,” I say. “I was in the hospital wing. I went there right after Harry was sent away by Umbridge.”

“What happened?”

“Long story short, my insides were ripped by a stray curse.” I can’t help but smile at her widening eyes and slightly agape mouth. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“It sounds pretty terrible,” she admits. “You’re fine now?”

“Completely.”

Hermione taps her quill on the desk. I can tell she wants to ask me something, but I don’t offer any information. Suddenly, she blurts, “What happened between you and Snape?”

“What do you mean? Nothing happened,” I reply.

“I’ve never seen him hate a Slytherin, but I can tell he doesn’t like you. I saw his face when you walked in the Potions room today and when you turned in your work. Harry and Ron saw it, too. They’re pestering me to find out what happened… So…if you wouldn’t mind…I’d love to know.”

I can’t say no. I’ve been dying to tell someone, and I kind of think Hermione and Harry and Ron deserve to know. Harry has been through a lot, and it would do him some good to have a nice anecdote about Snape. “You can only tell Harry and Ron,” I tell her before I begin my story. “I could get in some serious trouble if this spreads. Got it?”

“Of course,” she agrees, obviously ecstatic.

I recount my fight with Snape, from my destroying the Slytherin common room, to Snape finding me doing just that, to me Stunning him, to McGonagall saving me from his wrath. Hermione listens intently, even laughing quite loudly at some points. When I finish, all she says is, “That explains so much.”

“Doesn’t it? I don’t think I’d be here now if McGonagall hadn’t arrived and saved me,” I laugh.

We spend the next few minutes discussing Umbridge. It seems we both hate her, which she finds surprising because most of the Slytherins are okay with the High Inquisitor. We silence and begin taking notes when the professor arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Any questions, comments, concerns? Let me know!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte experiences life at Hogwarts.

I am the last in my dormitory to wake up that Saturday morning, and I lie there, savoring the solitude. Just a little bit of green-tinted light manages to find its way through the curtains around my bed. The idea of being under the lake once bothered me, but it keeps the sunlight out pretty well. I guess I shouldn’t complain too much.

Waking up early or late is the only time I ever get to be alone anymore. All those years I spent in solitude left me craving companionship, but now that I’ve spent a week constantly being around people, I can say that wanting companionship was such a bad idea. I just want to be alone. So when I finally force myself to roll out of my warm bed, I take my time getting dressed and ready for the day. I just want a few more minutes by myself.

By the time I make it to the common room, almost no Slytherins are around. _Right, the Quidditch tryouts._ I told Draco I would be there. I cannot lose his approval this quickly, so I begin running. Tempted as I am to stop and just sit by the lake in peace for a while, I cannot. Draco expected me to be at the tryouts, and even if I arrive late, I will be there.

And just as I feared, the tryouts have already started by the time I make it to the pitch. As discreetly as I can, I make my way to the where most of the Slytherins seem to be sitting, and I take a seat with them, just far enough away so I will not need to talk to any of them.

I can only imagine that this will be quite a boring few hours, and I don't want this time to go to waste.

I begin practicing Conjuration once more, this time attempting to Conjure a Quaffle, hoping that maybe it will be easier than Conjuring a wooden chair because this is much smaller. I am only about ten minutes into my practice when someone takes a seat next to me, and my curiosity forces me to look over at the person who decided to sit right next to me rather than _anywhere_ _else_ , considering over half of stands are empty. It is someone I have not yet met, and she is smiling at me. “Do you need something?” I ask.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks kindly.

“No…just…trying to learn Conjuration,” I say.

“I’m Astoria Greengrass,” she replies. “We’re in the same House, but I don't think I’ve met you yet.”

“No, I’m new this year, transfer from Durmstrang,” I answer. “I’m Charlotte Rodgers.” I wait a second before asking, “You’re Daphne’s sister?”

She sighs. “Allow me to apologize on her behalf for being part of Pansy Parkinson’s group of followers.”

“You’re sister and I don't talk much, but I appreciate the gesture either way.”

There is a short moment of awkward silence before Astoria finds another topic of conversation. “So you and Draco seem to be friendly. Anything there?”

I chuckle. “I don't know. I just met him. Maybe. He accepts me for who I am, which hasn’t been done in a while. So that’s nice, I guess.”

“And just who are you, Charlotte Rodgers?” she asks conspiratorially. 

“That’s a subject for debate recently.”

“Sounds messy,” she says cheerily.

“A bit, but I guess it’ll be okay.”

“ _Gryffindors are losers, Gryffindors are losers_ ,” the Slytherins around us begin chanting.

“Quidditch is a big thing here, I’m guessing,” I call over the chants.

“You guess a lot, don't you?” she laughs. I offer her a weak smile. “Yeah, the Houses get into, and that probably actually causes the rivalries to get out of hand.”

“Why is it so popular?” I ask.

She shrugs. “It’s tradition. Everyone wants to see their House win the Cup at the end of the year. That sort of thing.” I look away and twirl my wand around in my hand. “So. Conjuration. That’s a…difficult branch of Transfiguration for a fifth-year, isn't it?”

“I’m not a normal fifth-year. I’ve had loads of time to work on it.”

For the next half hour, Astoria and I talk about Transfiguration. However, we stop talking when the Gryffindors begin filing off the pitch, one girl looking sickly. “I missed what happened,” Astoria says, “but it looks like something’s happened to her. They’ll probably be carting her off to the hospital wing.” I watch as two redheaded boys help escort the girl up to the castle. “You were in the hospital wing earlier this week, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, a stray curse hit me. It wasn’t anything important.” Hopefully the tone of my voice will keep her from asking any further questions on the subject.

For the rest of the Quidditch tryouts, Astoria finds various topics to talk about, ranging from professors to owls to the fire that constantly burns in the Slytherin common room to the founders of Hogwarts and why each House has what colors, and I learn something important: Not all Slytherins are dreadful people.

Quidditch still bores me, but watching the tryouts was not nearly as terrible as I had originally feared. Astoria migrates away with the other spectators when the team retreats off the field to change into clean clothes, leaving me alone. Or at least that’s what I think. As I walk away from the stands to wait for Draco away from the pitch, a voice proves that I am not as alone as I had thought. “Who are you?” it asks me. “Are you new here?”

I turn to see two identical redheaded boys crawling from some hidden place under the Quidditch stands. Unfortunately I am unable to see the place where they had been lurking. “I could ask you the same thing,” I dodge the question. Honestly, I’m not even sure which one asked me in the first place.

Unless my eyes deceive me, these are the same two boys who took that Gryffindor girl to the hospital wing.

“We’ve never seen you around before,” the one on the right says. Their brown eyes watch me closely. It unnerves me, but I am determined to not show it.

“Well, I believe I can say the same about you,” I reply. “Then again, I don’t creep around the Quidditch pitch often. Do you?”

The one on the left smirks and answers, “That’s not entirely what I meant. What I meant is that I don’t think we’ve ever seen you at Hogwarts. Well, other than random sightings this week of course.”

“Then shouldn’t that be a simple answer? If you’ve never seen me before, obviously I must be new here.”

“You’re not making it any easier for us to figure out who you are, do you know that?” the left one says to me.

I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Well, I don’t know you, do I? Why should I tell two of you who I am? The two unnamed redheaded boys, who were sneaking around the stands, doing Merlin-knows-what, I might add – what makes you think I _want_ you to know who I am?”

The quieter one, the one on the right, glances to his brother. “She may have a point, you know. We haven’t properly introduced ourselves to her yet.” He smiles at me. “I’m George.”

“And I’m Fred,” the other adds.

“The Weasley twins,” I state.

The one called Fred smiles. “Our reputation precedes us. Now, who are you exactly?”

“Charlotte,” I answer.

“Got a last name, Charlotte?” Fred asks.

“Not one that I’m going to tell you any time soon. I don't know you, remember?”

“But we just told you who we are,” George points out.

I roll my eyes. “Are you going to tell me what you were doing hiding behind the stands?”

“Probably not,” Fred admits.

“Then I will probably not be telling you who I am.”

“As members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, it is beneficial for us to know who will be joining the Slytherin Quidditch team,” George says.

“And comical to throw a few of them off their game,” Fred adds with a wink.

My eyes jump from one of the twins to the other before I quietly remark, “You…you do know that _I_ am Slytherin, right?”

For a second, they seem dumbstruck, but Fred recovers quickly. “A Slytherin who doesn’t seem positively horrid? This is a new twist.” Well, I guess it’s not much of a recovery really, but until just a short while ago, I, too, believed that all Slytherins were nasty and horrid.

“We’re not all dreadful, you know,” I state defensively.

“Yeah, Freddie, not all Slytherins can be a Draco Malfoy,” George comments.

Fred throws his head back in exaggeration. “Ugh, could you just imagine if the whole lot of Slytherin House was like Malfoy? I believe I would leave Hogwarts altogether.”

“I’m…you…” I have to look away and laugh quietly. They have a point, but I don't want them to know that. “You know I’m dating Draco, don't you?” Am I dating Draco? I don't know, but the flustered looks on their faces make my lie worth it.

“How were we suppo –”

I cut Fred off, “Here he comes now.”

Draco walks over to us. “There are some Slytherins you haven't met that I’d like to introduce you to,” he informs me. His eyes land on Fred and George. “Weasleys. What were you two doing here?” His voice is venomous.

The twins laugh. “We were just leaving,” George says. And together, the two of them saunter off.

Draco laces his fingers through mine and we begin our journey back to the castle. “They weren’t bothering you, were they?”

“They were slightly annoying, but I’ll get over it,” I answer. “I doubt they spend much time around me now that they’ve insulted my House and my…well, you.”

His question comes quickly. “They did what? What did those two _weasels_ say about me?”

“It’s not a big deal.” I nudge him a bit. “They don't seem worth the trouble.”

“They’re not,” he agrees. “They’re disgusting blood traitors, their whole bloody family. And that father of theirs – _Arthur Weasley_ – he disgraces the reputation of wizards everywhere with his infernal fascination with Muggle objects. He’s the laughing stock of the Ministry.”

“Oh.”

“Don't speak to them if you can find a way to avoid it. They’ll bring you down to their level.”

Another Slytherin starts our way, and Draco seems to brighten a bit now that he is off the topic of the Weasleys and blood traitors. Once the boy gets close enough, Draco says “Charlotte, this is Graham Montague. Montague, this is Charlotte Rodgers.”

“Pleasure,” the Montague replies dully. “You didn’t try out for the team. Do you play Quidditch?”

“No,” I laugh. “I was only here to support Draco.”

He huffs impatiently. “Whatever you see in the tryouts cannot be spoken of with any other House. Not the new team members, not any of the formations you think you might have seen. Got that?”

“Yep.” Then the kid speeds away from Draco and me. “He must be great at parties.”

Draco smiles. “That’s who Montague is. He’s been appointed Captain, and really, he doesn’t do well with the stress.”

“I believe I would have given up the position,” I say.

“Give up being captain of the Quidditch team? No, no,” he says, “you don't do that at Hogwarts.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a privilege,” he answers.

I nod, not entirely understanding why someone would keep the position if it was that stressful. “Sorry I was late.”

“It’s no matter,” Draco assures me. “You showed up eventually, and that’s all that really counts. Did I see you talking to Astoria Greengrass?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Watch out for those Greengrass sisters,” he says, “especially that younger one. They’re close to being blood traitors.”

Conversation dies when Crabbe and Goyle rush over to us. Apparently neither of them feels comfortable without their king leading them around. “It looks like it might be a good year for us,” Crabbe says.

“Yeah, we’ve got some talent,” Goyle adds. “That Quidditch Cup is as good as ours.”

Though Quidditch does not interest me in the slightest, it is nice to see Draco finally positively talking about something here at Hogwarts rather than complaining about it. We stop at the Great Hall for lunch before we head back to the common room, but they only talk about Quidditch. So I remain quiet, trying to figure out just how long it will take me to finish the abysmal homework these professors keep assigning.

 

It’s early in the morning when I awaken on Sunday. I creep out of the dormitory and sneak away from the Slytherin Dungeon. The Black Lake is where I once again run into the Weasley twins. I sigh inwardly. No one else should be up this early. This is ridiculous. This is my time to be alone, and they are ruining it.

“Morning, Charlotte whatever-your-last-name-is,” Fred greets me.

“Why are you out here so early?” George questions.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I reply.

“Well, George asked you first,” Fred says. “Answer us, and we’ll answer you.”

“How do I know you’ll hold up your end of the bargain?”

“You’ll just have to trust us,” George states.

I look between the two of them. “You know, I don't trust you, and I don't think this is very important, to be honest. So I don't think it matters that much.”

“Wait, you don't trust us?” Fred asks, completely aghast and falsely offended.

Laughing, I turn to walk away. “I’ve heard enough about the two of you. So no, I don't trust you.” Then I start away. Their footsteps pound after me, but I do my best to ignore them. Besides, I’m actually sleepy, despite what I thought earlier. It’s too early to be awake. I’m safe here at Hogwarts; I can sleep later if I want to. I’m no longer in danger of being slaughtered while unconscious. This is something I need to remember more often. Hogwarts is safe. I am safe.

_I am safe._

“Wait!” Fred calls. He and George have caught up to me and are now walking on either side of me. “I’ll tell you what we were doing.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll necessarily tell you why I’m up this early.” In fact, I don't really want anyone to know that I don't always sleep much at night. How would I go about saying that? _I don’t sleep because the never ending fear of being the mother to Voldemort’s spawn haunts my dreams and so I am afraid to sleep and let my guard down because what if he comes after me and I am not prepared to fight back even though fighting Voldemort will do me no good and the thought of it causes so much anxiety that sleep evades me._ I can't say that.

“That’s okay, I guess,” Fred says. “But just know that friendship is a two-way street, so eventually you’ll have to talk to us.”

“Who said anything about being friends?”

“That was rude,” George replies.

“Moving on from that – I guess you really are a Slytherin – we’re creating some useful practical jokes,” Fred says.

“You know, to entertain people while here at Hogwarts,” George jumps in.

“Would you like to test some out?”

“I’m okay, thanks. Again, I don't trust the two of you.”

“Just what has _Malfoy_ said about us?” Fred answers.

We enter Hogwarts, me leading the way, Fred and George following. I’m making my way back to the Slytherin Dungeon. “That you’re blood traitors, so you can't be trusted.”

“And what do you think about that?” George asks.

“Yeah, are we really that bad?”

I look away from them, now questioning what Draco said. I know Draco is prejudiced against anyone who is not a pureblood supremacist, so why did I just take his word for it when he said not to trust these two? “I don't know.”

_How am I supposed to get back into the common room without these two learning the password and getting in with me?_

“So let me get this straight,” Fred’s tone is suddenly serious, “you don't trust us because the pureblood supremacist Draco Malfoy told you not to?”

We come to a stop in front of the door to the Slytherin common room. “I make my own opinions for myself, thank you.”

“But you don't trust us?” George asks.

“Why does it matter? We don't even know each other.” For the first time in my life, I am blessed with a stroke of luck, and the common room opens. “And I intend to form opinions for myself in time.” I duck into the common room around a group of second-years that opened the door.

Then I dash to the fifth-year girls’ dormitory, where I lie back down for the next few hours. 

Draco is in the common room with his friends when I finally get up for the day. And for some reason, he insists on being by my side to tell me all the details of Hogwarts. So together we spend most of the weekend by the Black Lake and roaming around the castle. Fred and George do not approach me when Draco is near.

Draco and I are finishing up our homework in the common room later that evening when he asks, “You had another run-in with the Weasley twins, didn’t you?”

“What – what makes you think that?” I reply as I put the finishing touches on my Astronomy essay. I really should have gone to that class rather than skipping with Draco.

“When I was showing you around the castle, they kept giving me this look,” he answers, rolling up his parchment. “And it wasn’t their normal resentful look. It was…more severe.”

“Yeah, I had a run-in with them this morning,” I admit.

“If they’re bothering you, I can get Crabbe and Goyle to help me put a stop to it,” he says calmly.

“I can take care of myself.” The son of a Death Eater telling me he could protect me rather than harm me. If only Voldemort could see him now.

He nods. “Well, we’re here if you need us.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Draco smiles. “So this Vanishing Spell in Transfiguration – can you help me?”

I would give my left leg to see Lucius’s face when his son asked me for help with Transfiguration spells. “I’ll give it a try, but I’ve never really been good at teaching things to others.” That’s only a half-lie. I’ve never been good at teaching things because I have never had a reason to _try_ teaching anything to anyone.

“You’re going to suggest that I read the book, aren't you?” he laughs.

“That was my first thought.”

He sighs. “Will you at least sit with me while I read the chapter?” His gray eyes are pleading.

“Fine.” The two of us stand up and move toward the sofa in front of the fire. I snuggle close to him, and we throw our feet up on the table in front of us. Now that I have the time, I begin attempting to Conjure something again. This time I do not start with a chair like those over at the tables, and I do not try to Conjure a Quaffle either. No, I am starting with something even smaller: a quill.

The first try – nothing. The same goes for every time I try to Conjure the quill for the next ten minutes. I huff at my inability to this. Perhaps I should take my mind off Transfiguration. My eyes wander to the fire, that constant flame that seems to mock me because why can't my life be as constant as it? “Draco, how does the fire stay burning all the time?”

He lowers his book to his lap. “I…I don't really know. It’s Hogwarts. Things just happen here.” The boy looks at me and smirks. “Why don't you try reading a book to find out?”

“What book do you suggest?”

He grins. “I have no idea.” Draco begins reading the Transfiguration book once more, and I look back to the flame. Perhaps I could find out in _Hogwarts: A History_ if I ever decided to pick that book up again. Or maybe I could just ask one of the professors. No, that is entirely out of the question.

I look back at the flame, longing for my life to be as steady as that fire. So far the only constant in my life is Hogwarts and Draco. Perhaps that’s all I need. Someone to care about me, and a place where I can be safe. It shouldn’t be too much to ask for, but I feel as if I am asking for the world.

Once again I go back to Conjuration. And once again, I fail to even Conjure a quill. Nearly five minutes later I am tempted to give up completely when I feel it. The tip of my wand glows for a moment, and then it appears. A quill. Sitting on my lap. One that hadn't been there a moment before. A jolt of excitement surges through me, and I begin hitting Draco’s leg to get my attention. “Draco!” I breathe. “Draco!”

“Charlotte, I am trying to read, as per the instructions of Professor Rodgers.”

“Draco!” I still manage to keep my voice down. Finally, Draco sets his book on his lap. “I Conjured it!” I hold the quill up. “I _Conjured_ it!”

He tosses his book onto the table at our feet. “You’re Conjuring things and I can't even vanish something yet. Professor Rodgers, please help me.”

I begin laughing. “You don't understand. I have been trying to Conjure things for months now.”

Draco swiftly kisses my cheek. “Congratulations!”

His eyes are pleading again. “All right, I’ll help you.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Charlotte Rodgers.” He kisses my cheek again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that not a whole lot happened in this chapter, but the little that did happen is important in the grand scheme of things.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Umbridge gains power. Charlotte does some things she probably shouldn't.

Draco and his friends are once again waiting for me when I make it to the common room. “I’m starving,” the blond-haired boy says to me. “Let’s go eat some breakfast.” He takes me by the hand, and the group of us starts towards the Great Hall. “Father told me to look out for an article in the paper, something about Umbridge.”

“Do you think she’ll be leaving Hogwarts any time soon?”

“I don't believe that’s what this particular article is about,” Draco answers.

Crabbe speaks up, “And besides, Umbridge just being here seems to be putting a damper on the Potter and his friends. Why would we ever want her to leave?”

 _Because she’s a toad-faced demon?_ I’ve never experienced Hogwarts without her, but I am fairly certain that it was better before her. I can’t know that for sure, but from what I hear, it’s better without Umbridge. Draco and most of the other Slytherins would probably never agree, but Umbridge is more of a curse on Hogwarts than anything else, no matter how she tries to portray herself. That woman has a temper, and it would be a shame to cross her.

We take our usual seats at the Slytherin table. “Any closer to figuring out the Vanishing Spell?” I ask Draco.

He grimaces. “I finished the reading after you went to bed last night? Other than, I’m not any closer.”

“I could help you, Draco,” Pansy offers. “I’m getting really close.”

Only part of me feels bad for her. She genuinely looks like she would like to help him. Draco doesn’t seem to recognize this and says, “I don't need your help.”

Pansy looks away quickly as if she has been struck and starts a conversation with a sixth year whom I know to be Daphne Greengrass.

“Here it comes!” Draco rejoices when the owls swoop into the room.

“Do you know what the article is about?”

He shakes his head at me. “A vague idea but nothing more.” A copy of the _Daily Prophet_ lands on the table in front of the Malfoy boy, and he quickly tears it open to find whatever Umbridge article his father told him about. A smile spreads across his face as he peruses the paper, and I am slightly nervous to find out what has managed to make him this happy. Surely it can't be good news. I find myself sliding closer to him so I can read the paper over his shoulder. “This is wonderful,” he comments quietly. “Finally, someone will put old Dumbledore in his place.”

“What’s it say?” I ask.

Draco clears his throat, takes a deep breath, and begins reading the article. “ _In a surprise move last night the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_.

“ _‘The Minister has been growing uneasy about the goings-on at Hogwarts for some time,’ said Junior Assistant to the Minster, Percy Weasley_. Look like at least one of the Weasleys managed to escape their blood traitor family. ‘ _He is now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve.’_ Thanks for that, Father.”

Draco clicks his mouth a few times, his eyes skimming down the page. “ _…the Ministry has now formalized with the passing of Educational Decree Twenty-three, which creates the new position of ‘Hogwarts High Inquisitor.’_

“ _‘This is an exciting new phase in the Minster’s plan to get to grips with what some are calling the “falling standards” at Hogwarts,’ said Weasley. ‘The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post, and we are delighted to say that she has accepted.’_

“This is magnificent,” Draco laughs softly.

This can't be happening. This can't be happening. Umbridge in charge? No, no, no, no. This can’t be true. She’s an awful person. Who would let her be High Inquisitor of anything?

Draco is overly pleased about this dreadful turn of events. “It seems the Ministry as finally realized that some of the things here at Hogwarts are out of place. Now we’ll finally see the reforms my father has been begging for.” He smirks. “Someone can finally put Dumbledore in his place.”

If someone is planning on “putting Dumbledore in his place,” I do not trust them. Dumbledore is the only wizard Voldemort has ever feared, and if someone wants to remove this wizard or silence this wizard, in my mind they are no better than Voldemort’s Death Eaters.

And Umbridge inspecting the professors? I don't want to deal with her more than necessary.

I hold my breath when we get to Herbology with Ravenclaw, silently praying for no Umbridge. The class goes by slowly, every few minutes Draco complaining about the class because “Seriously, why is this even a necessary class? It’s not like I’ll ever use it after Hogwarts.”

When we leave Herbology, I put away my fear of Snape informing Voldemort about me and Draco and take Draco by the hand to walk with him to Potions. Again, Snape eyes me suspiciously when I walk into the classroom. I smirk back at him. “Why does he always look at you like you’ve just set the castle on fire?” Draco whispers to me.

“I don't know,” I lie. “I guess he still doesn’t trust me after our disagreement before the term started.”

“Which you haven't told me about by the way,” Draco comments.

I catch Snape’s eye for a moment before answering, “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Class starts, and Snape circulates through the room, handing back our essays. “These are graded the way that they would be on your O.W.L.s. It should give you a realistic idea of what to expect on your official examination.”

I look down at my essay. There is a large letter _A_ on it. “What does this mean?” I ask Draco quietly.

“Acceptable,” he replies.

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” he grins at me, “almost as good as this!” He shows me his essay. There is a large letter _E_ on it. “It means ‘Exceeds Expectations.’ One notch above _A_ ,” he winks at me.

“I hate you,” I hiss sarcastically. Snape looks over at us, clearly telling us to stop talking, and moves to the front of the room.

“The general standard of this homework was abysmal,” Snape sneers. “I expect much better on your essays over the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to the dunces who get _D_ ’s.”

Draco sniggers in a whisper loud enough for all to hear, “Some people got _D_ ’s? Ha!” Snape smirks at the remark. Class goes by rather quickly, and Draco and I turn in our vials of potion for the day’s grade. As we place them on Snape’s desk, Snape gives me a quick but evil glare that I gladly return with a smile. We leave his room, but we quickly separate, Draco going to Divination and me going to Arithmancy.

Hermione is already in the classroom by the time I arrive. “You’ve heard the news, I’m guessing?” I sigh as I take a seat next to her.

She huffs. “Yeah.” She taps the table a few times before growling, “Who lets _Umbridge_ decide if the other professors are doing their jobs correctly? Anyone with a half a brain can see that she is the worst professor here! She’s even worse than Snape!”

“After those two weeks I was stuck here, I thought Snape was as bad as they come. But now I see how wrong I was,” I reply.

“And it’s not like Ministry even truly knows what’s going on here at Hogwarts. They hear one thing – probably from Malfoy’s father – and just assume Dumbledore is running the place into the ground! Dumbledore is the best headmaster Hogwarts could ask for, and now they’re trying to ruin it!”

“At least we have one thing to look forward to,” I say.

“And what’s that?”

“Umbridge won't stand a chance against McGonagall when she inspects Transfiguration. And as much as I detest Snape, he doesn’t play games. Umbridge stands no chance against either of them, and it should be entertaining to watch their classes get inspected.”

Before she can say anything, Professor Vector calls out, “Quiet down,” and class begins.

I manage to avoid Umbridge until I get to Defense Against the Dark Arts, where I have no other choice but to sit under her authority. “How was Arithmancy?” Draco asks quietly as we sit down.

“Same as usual, I suppose. And Divination?”

He smiles wickedly. “Professor Umbridge made an appearance. She inspected Trelawney’s teaching. I can only imagine _that_ professor will not hold onto her position for much longer.”

“Why –”

“Wands away,” Umbridge commands, ceasing her humming and trying to look pleasant. “As we finished chapter one last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence chapter two, ‘Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation.’ There will be no need to talk.”

Sighing, I open my book. Something about this woman just makes me hate her, really. “You mean you didn’t actually do the reading beforehand this time?” Draco chuckles quietly.

“It’s Umbridge’s class,” I answer casually, “I refuse to read on principle that it’s _her_ class.”

He smiles at me, and we turn our attention to our books, trying our best not to continue talking. It doesn’t quite work, for Draco says, “Are you trying to convince me that Professor Rodgers didn’t do the reading because she hates a fellow professor?”

I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. “Quiet, she’ll get angry.”

“Professor Rodgers badmouthing a fellow professor?”

“ _Draco_ ,” I hiss, “stop, we’ll get in trouble. I do not want a Dolores Umbridge detention. Who knows what kind of heinous things she does?”

“You could always ask Potter, I suppose,” he says this like it would be the worst punishment in the world. Draco’s eyes follow Umbridge around the room. “Besides, I don't think we’re the ones she’ll be punishing.” His voice is absolutely giddy, and I follow his gaze to find out why.

Umbridge has approached Hermione, who once again sits with her book closed and her hand raised. The professor bends down to the student so they are face-to-face, and I cannot hear the next few words. In fact, I cannot hear anything until Hermione says, in a regular voice, not whispering as Umbridge has been, “Yes, I do.” A few of the other students turn their attention to the scene as well. “Mr. Slinkhard doesn’t like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they’re used defensively.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Umbridge gives up on the whispering thing now as well. “Well, I’m afraid it is Mr. Slinkahrd’s opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger.”

“But –”

“That is enough.” Umbridge goes back to her desk, no longer acting sweet and kind as she had been when we first came to class. “Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House.”

Draco sniggers. “Serves them right.”

“What for?” Harry growls. Hermione quickly whispers something to him.

“For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions,” Umbridge says. “I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them – with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects – would have passed a Ministry inspection –”

“Yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher,” Harry nearly shouts, “there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head.”

Everything and everyone goes completely silent. That actually happened to Quirrell? I thought I had dreamt reading about that.

“I think another week’s detentions would do you some good, Mr. Potter.”

Draco laughs softly and says to me, “This day just keeps getting better.”

 

“You’d think Potter would have learned his lesson by now,” Goyle laughs that next morning at the breakfast table.

“Hey!” Crabbe says suddenly. “Let him keep doing it! It’s good to know that there’s another professor here besides Snape who’ll put Potter in his place.”

“Oh, watch this!” Draco points to the Gryffindor table on the other side of the Great Hall. “That’s Angelina Johnson, the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.”

The Slytherins watch gleefully as Angelina Johnson begins shouting at Harry Potter over at the Gryffindor table. In that moment, McGonagall dashes from the staff table and rushes to the students in her House. We can't hear what’s going on, but Draco seems certain that Harry is getting into some sort of trouble. “With any luck, McGonagall will be taking points away from Gryffindor.”

I smile to myself when we get to Transfiguration and find Umbridge there and ready for the inspection.

“That will do,” McGonagall says. Silence falls immediately. “Mr. Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework – Miss Brown, please take this box of mice – don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you – and hand one to each student –”

“ _Hem hem_ ,” Umbridge says.

McGonagall ignores the other woman and continues on as if she hadn't spoken at all. Seamus returns my paper, and I smile to myself when I see the E. Draco glares jokingly at me when he sees it and shows me his A. “Right then, everyone listen closely – Dean Thomas, you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention – most of you have now successfully vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have the gist of the spell. Today we shall be –”

“ _Hem hem_ ,” Umbridge repeats.

“ _Yes?”_ McGonagall, rounding on Umbridge.

“I’m actually quite excited,” Draco whispers to me. “Can't wait to see which professor comes out on top.”

_It’ll be McGonagall, obviously._

“I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec –”

“Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom.” I smile more widely than I really mean to. “As I was saying, today we shall be practicing the altogether more difficult vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell –”

“ _Hem hem_.”

“I wonder,” McGonagall speaks coldly and furiously as she once again rounds on Umbridge, “how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit talking while I am talking.”

Umbridge looks as if the other professor has slapped her face, and I look over at Draco, who, while he is slightly smiling, does not seem as pleased as he was when reading about Umbridge taking the position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor.

McGonagall turns to the class once more. “As I was saying, the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult…” I don't really listen to her explain more about the Vanishing Spell. I know how it works.

But I do watch Umbridge for the rest of the class, and not once more does she attempt to interrupt McGonagall. However, she sits in her corner wearing a grim expression and feverishly taking notes.

“I could hardly vanish the snail,” Draco complains. “Now we have to vanish mice?”

“Don't worry too much about it,” I assure him. “It’s not as difficult as it seems.”

“Then why don't you vanish the mouse?” Pansy hisses. “If it’s so easy, show us.” I glance up at her. “Go on then, do it.”

Sighing, I wave my wand and quietly say, “ _Evanesco._ ” The mouse disappears.

Pansy, red-faced and fuming, jabs her wand into her mouse, and when it tries to run away, she slams her hand on its tail and drags it back.

“Parkinson,” McGonagall, now behind us, says coolly, “do that to the mouse again, and I shall take points from your house.”

Pansy glares at the professor, but that glare quickly softens when McGonagall looks at me and says, “See me after class.”

“Yes, Professor,” I say softly.

“What’d you do now, Rodgers?” Pansy questions.

“I don't really know,” I answer.

“Surely you must. You had to do _something_ , and I’m going to find out sooner or later. You might as well just tell us.”

“I don't know what I did,” I huff, “but I know what I _will_ do if you don't shut up.”

“Was that a threat?”

“It might have been.”

Before Pansy has a chance to reply again, Draco says, “Look! Its tail’s gone!”

I can't help but smile at him and pat his arm. “Congratulations. Now if only you could make the rest of it disappear…”

“I’ll get it eventually, I’m sure.” He grins at me, then adds with a wink, “Maybe you could help me, Professor Rodgers.”

“Oh, I’d love help you, Mr. Malfoy.”

Pansy makes it a point to not look at me.

“I’ll meet you for Care of Magical Creatures,” Draco says while the students begin filing out of the classroom.

Umbridge approaches McGonagall’s desk, and I wait quietly in my seat. I look over and see Harry, Ron, and Hermione falling back from the other students to listen to what Umbridge has to say. “How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?” she asks the Gryffindor professor.

“Thirty-nine years this December,” McGonagall answers quickly, snapping her bag shut.

Umbridge makes a note. “Very well, you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days’ time.”

“I can hardly wait,” McGonagall says indifferently before turning to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Hurry up, you three.” They rush off to the next class Slytherin has with them, Care of Magical Creatures, and I walk toward the desk. Nothing is said until Umbridge leaves the room. “Rodgers, I believe last week we discussed how you would proceed in this class.”

“I…um… I don't…I don't understand.”

“Rodgers, you are ahead in Transfiguration due to reasons in your past you do not speak of,” she answers. “It was you who said that it would be counterproductive for you to excel beyond the students here at Hogwarts, and yet –”

“Is this because of the mouse? Professor, I thought you’d be proud,” I laugh.

Professor McGonagall rises to her feet, and I feel myself cowering away from her. “This isn't a joke,” she snaps. “Dolores Umbridge could have seen you –”

“So you’re angry because _Umbridge_ could have seen me?” I interrupt her.

“If Dolores Umbridge suspects anything is off about you, the fake identity that you and Professor Dumbledore have created could be destroyed.”

“So this isn't about you fearing that Umbridge will mark it against you that a Durmstrang student is ahead of your Hogwarts students?”

“Five points from Slytherin,” she states. “I will not tolerate that sort of disrespect.” I watch her carefully. “Rodgers, as a professor at Hogwarts it is my job to ensure the safety and protection of the students –”

“I’m not a real student, and you know that,” I cut in coldly.

“Twenty-five points from Slytherin,” she snaps, “and if you disrespect me like that again, I shall have to give you a detention.”

I clench my teeth. Merlin, I hate this place. “It’s not like I did it on purpose, Professor,” I say. “Pansy ques –”

“It does not matter what Miss Parkinson did. What matters is that you risk yourself by being anything but ordinary in front of Dolores Umbridge.”

I take a deep breath. “You…you’re worried about me, Professor?”

“It is my job to worry about the well-being of the students.”

My heart aches for a moment. “I…um…I’m going to be late to class, Professor.” She does not stop me when I rush away.

“What was that about?” Draco asks me when I finally get out to the grounds for class.

“It doesn’t matter,” I answer softly. I really just don't want to talk about it.

Care of Magical Creatures is relatively useless to me. The professor is odd. Nobody really likes the class, especially not the Slytherins, who find themselves to be above most of the subjects taught at Hogwarts. Harry, Ron, and Hermione openly hate Draco, and in return he openly hates them. I remain neutral during the arguments because I’m trying to stay on cordial terms with Hermione, who is best friends with Ron and Harry.

During the inspection of this particular class, Umbridge asks if there have been any injuries sustained during Hagrid’s teaching. Draco smirks at me, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy before saying, “That was me. I was slashed by a hippogriff.” _Not this story again._

“A hippogriff?” Umbridge asks in her oddly sweet voice.

“Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do,” Harry says angrily.

Ron and Hermione both groan loudly as Umbridge gives Harry another detention. I can’t help but feel pity for him. According to Draco, Harry and his friends are friends with Hagrid, have been since their first year, which is probably why Harry defended the professor. Draco only smirks at the fact that the famous Potter got yet another detention, and because of him no less.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore's Army and some awkward times.

Rumor has it that Harry and his friends are holding some sort of meeting in the Hog’s Head during our weekend at Hogsmeade, so when that time comes, I am only partially saddened that Draco will not be going to the village. Sure, I would have enjoyed wandering around Hogsmeade with him, visiting all of the shops in there, but I also want to see what Harry has planned. So that is where I plan to go.

“And you’re sure you can't go?” I ask Draco as he walks me to the entrance of Hogwarts.

“I wish I could,” he says quietly, “but there are some things I need to do. I promise I’ll be here when you get back.” Draco grins at me and pulls me into a quick hug before I turn and leave Hogwarts to go to the village.

I merge into a large group of other Hogwarts students who are going to Hogsmeade, yet I am fiercely alone. And while that shouldn’t bother me considering how desperate I am for alone time, I don't like this feeling. Being alone is one thing, but feeling lonely is completely different. Hogwarts has been my refuge for nearly a month and a half now, and most of that time has been spent with people around me.

Slowly but surely I am getting used to having people. I mean, I don't want them around all the time, but I don't mind them being around me as often. Like Draco for instance, who somehow manages to make me feel like I belong here at Hogwarts – I enjoy spending time with him.

I find myself trying to look as ordinary possible as I walk behind the Weasley twins, who both carry bags with the name “Zonko’s” written on them.

Draco fills my mind once more. It’s obvious that I can’t tell him what I’ve at Hogsmeade today if I go to the Hog’s Head. But I don’t like lying to him, and it’s not gotten any easier. However, I guess some things can’t be changed. I’ll have no choice but to lie to him…again. He doesn’t know my true past, and I lie to him about it every time it comes up. This is getting more and more difficult to deal with. I care for Draco, and he cares for me. And it kills me that half – more than half, actually – of what he knows about me is a lie.

“We remember you,” a voice says to me, causing me to jump. I was too distracted by my thoughts of Draco to realize that the two redheaded boys have slowed and are now walking on either side of me. “You were at the Quidditch tryouts, right?”

“Which one are you again?” I ask the boy who is speaking to me.

“I’m Fred. That’s George,” he answers.

“Why were you following us?” George asks.

“Yeah, why would a Slytherin care where two Gryffindors are going?” Fred interjects.

“You’re Malfoy’s friend, aren’t you?” This comes from George.

“You wouldn’t be spying on us for him, would you?” Fred asks.

They’re more annoying than I remember. “I was going to the Hog’s Head. Is it my fault if you were going there too? Trust me, following the two of you is not at the top of my to-do list,” I answer.

“The Hog’s Head?” Fred asks. “That place is a bit dodgy for someone like yourself to go alone, isn’t it?” I almost believe he is being sincere. That is, until his brother begins speaking.

“I think you’re right, Freddie,” George answers for me. Then he looks at me, “Charlotte – that is you name, right? Charlotte something? – why don’t you go to the Three Broomsticks? That place is much safer.”

“First, I’m not technically alone now, am I? I mean, if the two of you are going, and you obviously are, then I’m not really alone, even if I’m not going with you. You’ll be there, so I’m not really alone,” I answer. “Besides, Harry, Ron, and Hermione aren’t meeting at a well-travelled place such as the Three Broomsticks, are they? They wouldn’t want Umbridge to find out about their little plan.”

“How do you know about that?” Fred asks abruptly.

I roll my eyes. “Hogwarts isn’t exactly a place that keeps secrets that well, is it?”

“But why would a Slytherin want to go against Umbridge? Wasn’t she a Slytherin as well?” George says.

“Yes, but not everyone is as loyal to the House as they should be. They’re just Houses at school, really. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.” At that moment, we reach the doors to the Hog’s Head, a pub which is already full of Hogwarts students.

“You sure you’re a Slytherin?” Fred asks. I enter the Hog’s Head without answering.

Hermione begins speaking. “Er... Well – er – hi.”

“Well…erm…well, you know why you’re here. Erm…well, Harry here had the idea – mean – I had the idea – that it might be good if people who want to study Defense Against the Dark Arts – and I mean, really study, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us” – her voice becomes stronger – “because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts.” One of the Ravenclaws – I think he’s Ravenclaw? – shouts out an encouragement, and Hermione becomes braver. “Well, I thought it we be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands.”

“You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?” someone asks.

I’m not sure Harry a hundred percent behind this. He looks rather queasy.

“Of course I do,” Hermione answers. “But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because…because,” she takes a deep breath, “because Lord Voldemort’s back.” Some of the people shriek or make other involuntary movements, some spilling their drinks on themselves, some yelping, some shuddering.

“Well…that’s the plan anyway,” Hermione says. “If you want to join us, we need to decide how we’re going to –”

“Where’s the proof that You-Know-Who’s back?” a blond-headed boy asks.

Hermione tries reasoning, “Well, Dumbledore believes it –”

“You mean, Dumbledore believes _him_ ,” the boy cuts her off, pointing at Harry.

I can see how most of the people could have doubts. I mean, nobody wants to accept the fact that Voldemort is back, but if they come to something like this, they should at least believe the back-story to all of it. If they don't, what is the point of coming? I need the doubters to leave. I _need_ to learn more about Defense Against the Dark Arts, just in case the Death Eaters come for me again and I don't have the chance to distract them and run as I usually try to do. This subject should have been more important to me during my time on the run, but…it made things too real if I practiced it.

Now I regret that decision.

“What makes me say You-Know-Who’s back?” I hear Harry ask them, which brings me back to the present. “I saw him.” I stop listening there. _He’s seen Voldemort._ I can’t help but wonder what he looks like. For some reason, I can picture him having long, greasy hair and black eyes. But I realize that I probably only think he looks like that because Snape does, and I hate Snape and therefore want to compare the two of them.

I’ve missed an important part of the conversation, because I hear Harry say, “I don’t want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that’s what you’re here for, you might as well clear out.” Nobody moves.

“So,” Hermione says. “So…like I was saying…if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we’re going to do it, how often we’re going to meet, and where we’re going to –”

“Is it true that you can produce a Patronus?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers. I lean a little closer.

“A corporeal Patronus?”

I suddenly find myself jealous of the Boy Who Lived. How did he learn to do that?

Everyone starts asking about what he’s done, from killing a basilisk to saving the Sorcerer’s Stone (whatever that is) to completing the tasks of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry tries to explain to them that he had help, but no one really wants to hear it. I don’t understand why he’s being modest, but I can understand him trying to get the limelight off himself. It can’t be comfortable.

“…are we agreed to take lessons from Harry?” Hermione asks.

Inputs come from all over the room about how the lessons cannot interfere with this or that. Hermione agrees to come up with a time that works for everyone. The group of students goes on to speculate why Umbridge doesn’t want them to know Defense Against the Dark Arts, something about Dumbledore laying siege on the Ministry. After a few more minutes of discussion, Hermione pulls a piece of parchment from her bag and tells everyone to sign up. I readily agree and sign my name when it comes to me. The group breaks apart.

I hang around outside the Hog’s Head, waiting for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. When they step out, I immediately go to them. “Harry,” I say.

“Who are you?” Ron asks me.

“She’s the Slytherin I told you about,” Hermione answers for me.

A wide smile spreads across the faces of Ron and Harry. “The one who Stunned Snape?” Ron asks me.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “That’s me. Charlotte, Rodgers.” I offer them my hand.

Harry and Ron both accept the gesture. “You hang around Malfoy, right?” Harry asks.

I feel heat rise in my cheeks. “Yes.”

“Why were you in there?” Harry nods to the Hog’s Head.

“I want to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts,” I say. He doesn’t hide his skepticism. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Really?” he asks. “Then what is?”

“I…you said that you have _seen_ Voldemort,” I begin.

“That’s right,” he says defensively.

I swallow. “Could…could you tell me what he looks like?” I know it sounds like an odd request, almost as if I don’t believe his story, but I have to know. I have to be prepared for when I do see him. I don’t know when that is, but I know it won’t be too long.

“I told you in there that I won’t talk about Cedric if that’s what you’re getting at,” Harry says firmly.

“I don’t want to know about what Voldemort did to Cedric!” I tell him. “I believe you: Voldemort murdered him. I didn’t know Cedric. I need to know what Voldemort looks like.”

“Why?” Ron asks for Harry. “How could that possibly matter?”

My eyes dart to Ron, then back to Harry. “It matters to me,” I say quietly.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Charlotte,” Harry answers, “but I wouldn’t tell anyone about the meeting we just had if I were you. I don’t think it would be in your best interest.”

“Don’t you understand?” I say desperately. If he knew why I wanted – no, _needed_ – to know what Voldemort looked like, he wouldn’t argue with me. “I don’t care about the meeting! I’m not going to tell anyone! I _want_ to learn the Defense Against the Dark Arts! But I _need_ to know what Voldemort looks like!”

“I’m sorry,” he continues, “but I find it hard to trust anyone who is as close to Malfoy as you are.”

“Even if that person attacked Snape?” I counter.

“Especially then,” Harry replies. I look to Hermione for help, but she is loyal to Harry and doesn’t argue on my behalf. I can’t say I blame her; she hardly knows me. “There’s no way to know where your allegiances lie.” With that, the three of them walk away.

That did not go as I had planned. Not only have I now got Harry and his friends questioning my motives as to why I want to learn the Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I also still have no clue as to what Voldemort looks like. It seems irrational, I know. But knowing what he looks like would make me feel better. Just knowing _something_ about him would make me feel better.

I head back to the castle, feeling oddly let down even though part of me figured it would end up like this.

 

I’ve been in the Slytherin common room for a couple of hours, trying my hardest to work on either my homework or Transfiguration but failing pathetically. I don't want to do this. As much as I love Transfiguration, there are other things that require my attention, and all I want to do is go see to it. And now would probably be my best chance. The Slytherin Quidditch team is practicing, which means Draco is not here to interrupt or stop me, and he won't be back for nearly half an hour. Without another thought to talk me out of this horrid idea, I stand and leave the common room, glancing down the corridor and debating whether or not I should proceed.

My curiosity defeats my better judgment, and I start walking through the hallway, stopping when I reach Snape’s office door, my better judgment once again trying to convince me that this is a bad idea but losing once more to my curiosity. I knock on the door.

“Enter.” I push the door open to find Snape brewing a potion. He turns and pauses when he sees me. “Rodgers?” He’s obviously just as confused as my better judgment is…

“Professor,” I reply. He watches me closely, and it takes me too long to realize he’s waiting for me to say why I came to his office. In truth, I am too. I don’t know why I let myself do this. “You said I could come to you if I needed something since you already know about my duty…”

“And you refused my help,” Snape replies. “Why would you change your mind? I’m sure Draco won’t be at practice much longer. You can talk to him then.” He turns his back toward me and begins his potion again, silently telling me that the discussion is over.

Apparently I am not worth the time, and I blindly stampede through the corridor, accidentally smashing into Draco as he leaves the common room. “What’s wrong?” he asks me after he steadies himself on his feet again. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Practice over already?” I ask him, ignoring his question. How long was I in Snape’s office?

“Yeah, we finished early.”

“How’d it go?” With much difficulty, I keep my voice upbeat and interested.

“Really well,” he says excitedly. “I think we’ll be able to win the Quidditch Cup this year!” He puts his arm around me. “I have a surprise for you.” He leads me away from the Slytherin common room before we even go inside. “It’s the real reason I was unable to go to Hogsmeade.”

We enter an abandoned classroom, one which I have never before seen. But it doesn’t look like a classroom at all. “I had some seventh-years help me,” Draco says. “One of the benefits of the last name ‘Malfoy.’” I look around. It looks so familiar, torches lighting the walls, a long table in the middle of the room that seems out of place but…familiar.

“Is this…”

“A replica of the Hog’s Head? Yes,” he answers. “That’s why the seventh years had to help me. It’s a more advanced form of Transfiguration.” He leads me to the lone table in the middle of the room, the only part of the room that is different from the Hog’s Head except for the lack of a bartender and the other patrons. “I wanted to give you a nice surprise.” He smiles at me as we take our seats. On the table sits two candles. “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect,” I say. “Definitely what I need today.”

Draco waves his wand, and a plate of dessert appears. “I guessed you wouldn’t be overly hungry considering dinner was a few hours ago, but there’s always room for dessert.” With another wave of his wand, two forks appear. “It took a lot of preparation. I didn’t want you to think I was avoiding you, so I figured telling you to go to Hogsmeade without me would be easier.”

“This is wonderful,” I tell him. This is the happiest I have been in years. _Someone cares about me._

“I thought you might like it.” We eat the dessert slowly, in silence. I’m in utter awe that he pulled it off without me ever giving a thought as to what he was doing.

“Thank you so much.”

“This isn’t all!” he laughs. “I have a present for you!”

_I don’t have anything for him._

“You don’t have to give me anything,” he replies, almost as if he can read my mind. He pulls a package out of his robes. “I write my mother often, and I’ve told her of you. She wants to meet you.” He hands me the package. “She sent this to me so I could give it to you.” She must not know exactly who I am if she’s sending him things to give me. The thought makes me feel oddly happy.

I gingerly open the gift. Inside, there is a silver necklace with a beautiful emerald pendant. “It’s gorgeous,” I say quietly. I don’t mention it, but this is the first real gift I’ve ever gotten. At the orphanage we would get old charity toys, but for the past five years I haven't even had that. Tears fill my eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It’s a Malfoy family tradition, according to my mother, to give a gift when…you know…asking someone to date you. My father did it for her, as his father did for my grandmother.” Draco stands and comes toward me, motioning me to turn so he can put the necklace on me. I hand it to him and lift my hair off my shoulders, baring my neck to him. He slips the necklace on me and latches it, his fingers lingering on my skin. I stand and turn toward him. “That is, of course, if you’d actually like to be my girlfriend,” he says in a low whisper. I put my hands on his chest.

“Of course I do,” I whisper. He quickly fills the gap between us, placing his lips over mine. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer to him. I run my hands up his chest and wrap them around his neck. With one hand he swipes everything off the table on which we had just eaten, sending plates and cups and forks clattering to the cold stone floor. He lifts me into the air, sets me down on the table, and moves to stand between my legs. Our kiss deepens, and I tighten my hold on his neck.

The door creaks, but I think nothing of it until someone clears their throat. Abruptly, we stop and pull apart. Draco buries his face into my neck and swears quietly. Then he pulls away and turns toward the door, finally allowing me to see who has interrupted us. It is none other than Severus Snape. “Mr. Malfoy, Miss Rodgers,” he says, “come with me.”

I slide down off the table. Draco reaches for my hand but stops, realizing that might not be the best idea under the current circumstances. We follow Snape to his office, where we both sullenly sit down across from Snape’s desk. He pinches the bridge of his nose as if trying to find a way to start scolding us for our actions. After a few awkward glances between me and Draco and a few awkwardly silent minutes, Snape says, “Very few times in my career at Hogwarts have I ever…” He stops and glares at both of us.

“Professor,” Draco begins.

“Silence!” Snape commands, cutting him off. “The headmaster has too much to deal with to worry about…these sorts of things.” He folds his hands together on his desk. “Now, what do you suppose we do about this?” Draco and I both shift in our seats. _Why couldn’t it have been any other professor?_ “No suggestions? Well –”

“Professor, wait!” Draco interrupts.

“Yes, Draco?” Snape asks, his face full of insincere interest in what the boy has to say.

“Don’t punish Charlotte. It was me…It was me. It was my fault.”

“Your nobility is to be honored,” Snape says, “but she is just as much to blame.”

“No, Professor,” Draco argues, “she isn’t!”

Snape frowns. “Mr. Malfoy –”

“Draco,” I cut Snape off. “Don’t try to take blame for this. I am just as much at fault.”

“Detention,” Snape announces, “for the both of you. My office. Every night for two weeks.” Draco and I stand to leave. “Wait.” We turn back. “Tell no one of this. I fear that Professor Umbridge will react much differently than I.” He looks right at Draco, and I have a feeling Snape just doesn’t want the Slytherin Seeker to get suspended from playing Quidditch.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some changes are made in Charlotte's life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to update!

I wake up that next morning and lie in my bed, trying to gather my thoughts, debating whether or not I should simply act like Snape had not caught us last night. As much fun as it to watch Snape worry about me blabbing to Draco, I sincerely wish it had been  _any other professor_ who had found us. Sure, what he saw last night would solidify his fears that I have told Draco the truth about everything, but was it really worth the amount of awkwardness I feel right now?

I roll onto my side. No, it had to be Snape who found us. Had it been McGonagall, I doubt I would able to look her in the eye again. Umbridge would have punished us severely, I’m sure. And no other professor would have taken into consideration that Draco needed to practice with the Slytherin Quidditch team. Begrudgingly, I must agree that it was for the best that Snape caught us and not anyone else.

But that doesn’t make me any less uncomfortable.

It is a slight relief that Draco is not waiting for me in the common room this morning. I can pretend things did not end as badly last night as they truly did.

This routine of speaking to only Draco in the mornings before we go to breakfast is a routine I am determined to break now that I have a chance, so I walk over to Astoria, really the only Slytherin outside of Draco’s group whom I know. “Charlotte,” she greets me cheerily. “How are you?”

“Great, and you?”

She smiles. “I’m good.” A dark-haired Slytherin walks over to her. “This is Malcolm Baddock.”

“Pleasure,” he says, flashing a broad smile. “You’re new here?”

“Yeah, a transfer from Durmstrang.”

Excitement briefly flashes in his eyes. “Durmstrang? Did you know Victor Krum?”

“Unfortunately, no,” I sigh. “I mean, I met him, but…didn’t really know him.”

“Oh…” His voice is disappointed. “That’s a shame, I’m a big fan, would’ve loved to get his autograph.”

“Well, it seems I have failed you,” I laugh.

“Yeah, it seems you did.”

Astoria giggles. “I suppose we can forgive you this time, but only this once.”

“Have you heard about Umbridge’s new decree?” Malcolm sighs. He motions to the board by the door where a crowd of students chatters excitedly, and I strain my eyes to see it. “Umbridge is disbanding all teams, groups, clubs, and organization. Anything that has more than three students falls into that group. None of them may exist without permission from the High Inquisitor.”

_Oh no. The Defense Against the Dark Arts thing._

Merlin, I’m going to be blamed. I was the only Slytherin there, so I would be the obvious scapegoat. No no no, this can't happen now, I can't have them lose their faith in me this soon. I just…I can't do this. I can't be labeled as a traitor.

“Are you okay?” Astoria whispers. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Everyone sees ghosts at Hogwarts,” Malcolm points out. “They roam the halls.”

“You know what I mean!” Warning bells ring in my head when I see the sincere concern I see in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah…I’m…I’m fine, just…distracted.”

As if me being anxious summons him, the door to the common room opens, and Draco enters, his eyes skimming over the groups of students before they land on me. He grins and walks toward me, and instantly I feel better about probably being blamed for the new decree. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, “I needed to talk to Umbridge about Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four. Can't have the Slytherin Quidditch team disbanded.” He smiles charmingly at Astoria and Malcolm. “Would you two mind if I steal Charlotte away so we can go eat?”

“Not at all,” Astoria says. “Have a good day, Charlotte.” She takes Malcolm by the hand, and they saunter off.

Draco puts his hand on my back, and we leave the common room. “They’re not good company to keep,” he says quietly. “Greengrass and Baddock are very nearly blood traitors.”

“I think I can decide if someone is good company for me to keep or not,” I comment.

“You can, but I just don't want your reputation falling because of them,” he answers.

I guess he has a point. What little reputation I have gained can't be lost just yet. Throughout breakfast, Draco and I do not discuss blood traitors or Snape or anything else that happened in the last eight hours.

Our first class is Transfiguration. Luckily today is our Transfiguration class with no other Houses, so I don't have to worry about the prying eyes that might wonder if I have told Draco about the Defense Against the Dark Arts thing. “Today we will continue practicing the Vanishing Spell – Parkinson, if you would please take this box of mice and hand one to each student.”

“This again,” Draco sighs.

“Well, until you learn to do it, yeah, I’m sure it’ll continue being this,” I laugh.

“Well, if Professor Rodgers would be so kind as to help me, I think – _I think_ – I’d be able to do this quicker,” Draco answers.

I smirk at him. “Fine, I will do my best to help, but I make no promises. Firstly, have you done all of the reading on the Vanishing Spell?”

“Yes,” he sighs, “I did.”

“Don't use that tone with me,” I say as professor-like as I can. Draco smiles at me. “Okay, show me what you’re doing.”

Draco points his wand at the mouse and says, “ _Evanesco_.” The mouse does nothing. “ _Evanesco_.” Still nothing. “ _Evanesco!_ ” The mouse remains. “ _Evanesco!_ ” I’m about to speak when he shouts out, “ _EVANESCO!_ ”

“Mr. Malfoy!” McGonagall snaps. “You shall refrain from shouting in my class or it will be detention.”

He huffs but doesn’t say another word as McGonagall turns back to Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode.

“What was I doing wrong?”

“Other than shouting?”

“Yes, other than that.”

“You’re moving your wand incorrectly,” I answer. “Your movement is too choppy. Try to make it more fluent. Like this.” I demonstrate how he must wave his wand without hesitation, but I don't vanish the mouse because I don't want McGonagall frustrated with me again.

He smiles and repeats after me, but somehow still manages to fail. His smile quickly fades. “What now?”

“You might not be concentrating hard enough,” I try.

“Either that, or I’m still moving my wand wrong,” he jokes. “Perhaps you should put your arms around me and direct my movements?”

My laugh comes quickly and loudly, and I swiftly try to cover it up with a cough, which turns out to be a bad idea because it only draws more attention. Draco’s face turns a slight shade of pink. Pansy groans quietly, eyeing us as if she would like to kill us. McGonagall glances over for a second before saying, “Stay focused on your work.”

Draco and I stay relatively quiet for the rest of Transfiguration, and we are soon making our way to Potions with the Gryffindors.

Draco seems positively giddy when we stop in front of Snape’s door, like he’s waiting for something to happen, like he’s _planning_ for something to happen. He pulls an official-looking piece of paper from his robes, and my suspicions are confirmed when Harry, Ron, and Hermione reach the bottom of the stairs. “Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue straightaway, I went and asked her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he’s always popping in and out of the Ministry… It’ll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won't it?”

Hermione whispers something to Harry and Ron, who are both doing their best to bite back their anger.

“I mean,” Draco says, raising his voice just to antagonize Harry and Ron even more, his eyes shifting towards them maliciously, “if it’s a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they’ve got much chance… From what my father says, they’ve been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years… And as for Potter… My father says it’s a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo’s…apparently they’ve got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic…”

Draco makes a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling back. Pansy shrieks with glee while Crabbe and Goyle offer their typical grunts of laughter. I try my best to offer Hermione a look of apology, but before I have a chance to even meet her eyes, I am distracted by a sight I thought was impossible.The quiet Gryffindor boy, who has seemed so mild-mannered every time I’ve seen him around the castle and in class, shoves past Harry and Ron, raging, coming straight at Draco.“Neville, _no_!” Harry lunges forward and grabs the other boy’s robes. Neville struggles, his arms flailing, reaching forward to grab Draco and probably rip him apart, leaving Draco slightly surprised.

“Help me!” Harry gets his arm around Neville’s neck and hauls him backward, away from Draco, away from Crabbe and Goyle, who are bracing themselves for a fight. Ron rushes forward and grabs Neville’s arms, and he and Harry manage to drag Neville back to the other Gryffindors.

Neville, unable to really speak with Harry’s arm around his neck, spits out, “Not…funny…don't…Mungo’s…show…him…”

At that moment, because Snape has such good timing for these sorts of things, the professor opens the door to his classroom. “Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom?” he sneers. “Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detention. Inside, all of you.”

We all file into the classroom behind Snape, Draco smirking at me. “That was even better than I imagined.”

Draco and I glance back at Harry and his friends. Ron looks over at me. Within a few minutes, both Harry and Hermione have both looked over at me as well. They probably think I’m telling Draco about the Defense class thing. When we turn back to the front of the room, Draco asks, “Did you have a run-in with the _Golden Trio_ at Hogsmeade?”

“Golden Trio?”

“Yeah, Potter and his friends, you know, the ones all the professors besides Snape – and Umbridge now, I’m guessing – seem to favor above all the rest,” Draco answers, venom in his voice. “So did you have a run-in with them at Hogsmeade?”

I inwardly smile. He’s just given me the perfect excuse without even knowing it. “Yes. It wasn’t anything important, but I don’t think they will forgive me easily.”

“What happened?” he asks, trying to adjust his chair.

“Granger almost ran me over. I don’t know where they were going so quickly,” I say, forcing down my regret of lying to Draco, my guilt of lying to the first person to truly care for me since the orphanage. “I spilled my butterbeer on Potter. Weasley jumped to his defense. I told them it was the Mudblood’s fault.” I smile at Draco’s approving look, biting back the ache of using that word again in reference to Hermione.

“Good job,” Draco congratulates me. “Put them in their rightful place.”

All speaking in the classroom ceases when Snape slams the dungeon door shut with a loud, echoing bang.

“You will notice,” Snape says softly, “that we have a guest with us today.”

He motions to Umbridge, and I groan quietly, not caring about the curious look Draco gives me because of it. For some reason, I thought I could avoid that toad woman for a bit longer, yet there she sits in the corner, her clipboard on her knee, a fake smile on her face. As much as I dislike Snape, I want him to triumph over Umbridge.

“We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today, you will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson, if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend – instructions” – he waves his wand – “on the board. Carry on.”

“Can't wait to see Snape put Umbridge in her place,” Draco muttered.

“I thought you liked her?” I ask quietly.

“Not as much as I like Snape,” he answers. “And if I’m being honest, she’s rather foolish to be a Slytherin, isn't she?”

I can't stop my smile as we begin working on our potion.

Not long after, Umbridge stands to her feet and goes toward Snape, who is standing over Dean Thomas’s cauldron.

“Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level,” she says to Snape’s back. “Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus.”

Snape straightens slowly and turns to look at her.

“Now,” she continues, her quill perched over her clipboard, “how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?”

“Fourteen years,” Snape answers, the look on his face now harder to read than it was the day he was charged with watching over me.  

“You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?” It’s like she wants to anger him.

“Yes.” Snape’s voice is dangerously quiet.

“But you were unsuccessful?”

His lip curls. “Obviously.”

Without warning or my full consent, my respect for him rises.

Umbridge scribbles something onto her clipboard. “And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?”

“Yes.” Snape seems almost as furious right now as he did when I Stunned him those months ago.

“Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?”

Dumbledore must know that Snape has not truly given up his Death Eater ways.

“I suggest you ask him,” Snape answers curtly.

“Oh I shall,” Umbridge promises with a sweet smile.

“I suppose this is relevant?”

“Oh yes,” Umbridge assures him. “Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers’ – er – backgrounds…” Then she walks away.

Snape then decides to torment Harry, but I don't listen. If the Ministry knows he is a Death Eater, why let him continue working here? Why does _Dumbledore_ let Snape work here? I don't understand.

When we get to Defense Against the Dark Arts, I am only slightly disappointed that Umbridge does not get into another argument with Hermione.

 

After dinner that night, while Draco and I are in the common room, I find myself just trying to escape our conversation, once again craving to be alone. I find my escape route when Pansy asks Draco for help with her Potions essay. When he turns his attention to her, I take my chance, silently standing and sneaking out of the room. Snape’s office is the general direction in which I’m going, though I don't really know why. I knock on his door.

Snape calls out, “Enter.”

I do.

“Do you need something, Rodgers?” The tone in his voice makes me want to leave, but instead, I take the seat in front of his desk. He sets his quill aside. “Do you need something?” His voice is the same as it was before.

“Not really, Professor.”

“Then why are you here, Rodgers?”

I look away from him. “Professor Snape, I have not had much social contact since I was ten years old, did you know that?” He doesn’t respond, so I continue. “So, I mean, I never really had a chance to develop those skills. And now, I’m…when I’m around people for a long time…I get anxious. I like to be alone, and I don't get that chance much anymore because of this place. I’m socially awkward. You’re socially awkward – no offense, sir. I thought it’d be easier if I came in here, because neither of us will have to talk, but it will look as if I’m having a serious conversation. No one will question it.”

He is quiet for only a moment before he says, “No.”

“Then what if I asked you a question?”

“Was that not a question just then, Rodgers?”

“Is Umbridge a Death Eater?”

He pauses.

“Is Umbridge a Death Eater?” I repeat.

“Why?”

“Because she seems dangerous. And evil. And she’s actually quite…intimidating at times, I suppose. Honestly, she makes me uneasy. I just want to know if I should fear her for reasons connected to Voldemort or if I should fear her because of the power she now holds as High Inquisitor.”

“You are free to leave, Rodgers.”

“But what if –”

“Go.”

I hate him.

But I obey and go back to the common room nonetheless. Draco motions me over to the large table where he’s currently sitting with Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy, as well as quite a few other Slytherins I have not had the misfortune of meeting.

No, I reprimand myself, not all of the Slytherins are dreadful, as I’ve seen with Astoria and Malcolm, and I should take that into consideration before meeting the others.

Draco scoots his chair over a bit so I can squeeze in next to him. “This is Exploding Snap. Have you ever played it?” I shake my head. “Thought not. Zabini and I will help you.” Draco looks to the boy in front of me. “Blaise Zabini, this is Charlotte Rodgers. Charlotte, this is Zabini.” Zabini offers me a small smile and a nod. He’s already better than Crabbe and Goyle.

“Okay, Charlotte, this is how you play the game…” he begins.

I must admit that playing Exploding Snap is the best thing that could have happened to me at this time. There is really no need to speak in it.

 

Draco being on the Quidditch team works out really well for me with this whole Defense Against the Dark Arts group that the Golden Trio began. I don't have to worry about lying to him about where I am when it comes time for the first meeting. He is away at Quidditch practice, and that gives me time to lie in wait for the other students I saw at the Hog’s Head.

It is nearly half past seven when I finally see Neville, Dean Thomas, and a few others whom I have not really met. I follow them as nonchalantly as possible, not wanting a repeat of what happened with the Weasley twins. We stop on the seventh floor, right by the Room of Requirement, and I am suddenly sad. Others can find the room, which means it is not just mine and Draco’s secret.

“Whoa,” Dean says, looking around in shock. “What is this place?” The small group of us sits down in the silk cushions that seem to serve as chairs.

Harry goes on to try explaining just what the Room of Requirement, but he only gets through roughly half of his explanation – one which is about as vague as Draco’s had been – before more students arrive, forcing him to restart. When everyone has finally arrived and the door has been locked behind us, Harry nervously begins, “Well, this is the place we’ve found for practices, and you’ve – er – obviously found it okay –”

“It’s fantastic!” several people murmur.

“It’s bizarre,” Fred says, a frown on his face as he looks around the room lined with bookshelves containing an array of instruments. “We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then…”

Apparently the room can be anything. So maybe the passageway to the Hog’s Head, maybe a piece of this room, is indeed just a secret between me and Draco. Harry is answering questions about the instruments – Dark Detectors, I believe he called them – when he notices Hermione’s raised hand and asks, “What, Hermione?”

She replies, “I think we ought to elect a leader.”

That’s silly, Harry is obviously the leader.

“Harry’s leader,” Cho voices my thoughts.

“Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly. It makes it formal and gives him authority. So – everyone who thinks Harry ought to be leader?”

All of us raise our hands. And really, was there ever a chance of another outcome?

“I think we should also have a name,” Hermione then says. “It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?”

Of the suggestions thrown out, my favorite has to be the Anti-Umbridge League, but Hermione soon points out that all of the suggestions obviously tell what we are, which is a poor idea.

“What about the Defense Association?” someone asks. “We could call it as the D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we’re talking about?”

“Yeah, the D.A.’s good,” says a pretty redheaded girl whom I can only assume is a Weasley. “Only let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear, isn’t it?” I’ve never even spoken to this girl, but I like the way she thinks.

We take another vote and officially become Dumbledore’s Army. Harry suggests we begin with Expelliarmus. After some short arguments from people in the crowd and Harry telling them how it saved his life but that they are free to leave if they want, we separate into pairs. Lee Jordan and I, standing close to the Weasley twins, begin firing the spell at one another. _Why did I not practice Defense Against the Dark Arts more when I was on the run?_ This is much more difficult for me than Transfiguration. Fred watches me closely as if trying to decide if I should be trusted. Damn this Slytherin reputation that seems to cling to me. If nothing else comes from this group, I hope to at least convince some people that I am trustworthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna give a special thanks to authorwithoutaquill for agreeing to be my beta and for making sure I update!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape and Charlotte have an uncomfortable conversation

“You’re the Slytherin, right?” Lee Jordan asks me before shouting, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” and sending my wand out of my hand.

I bend down to pick it up and quietly answer, “Yeah,” expecting him to begin listing off the many reasons a Slytherin cannot be trusted, bracing myself for the rejection I will surely face.

But instead, Lee smiles and says, “It’s nice to see that not all the Slytherins are as bad as the stereotype.”

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” He grunts and takes a few paces backward as my feeble attempt at the spell whooshes over him. I’m so bad at this.

“And she’d be even better if she weren’t dating Malfoy!” Fred laughs.

Lee pauses for a second, his face blank, staring at me in false horror. “No,” he whispers, “no, not Malfoy.”

I smile sadly. And here comes the rejection. “He’s…he can be a handful,” I admit. “But he…he isn't all bad. He’s great to me.”

Fred and George begin laughing, Lee quickly joining them. “He’s a bigot!” George points out.

“Yeah, he’s a pureblood supremacist,” Fred adds. “He might be ‘great to you’ or whatever, but that doesn’t mean he’s a good person. You can’t trust him. He’ll turn on you the moment he learns you’re a part of Dumbledore’s Army, just watch.”

It’s not like I haven't thought about that very thing, but hearing someone else say it makes my blood boil. I don't even know Fred and George Weasley. _How dare they say such things to me?_ I’ve actually given much thought to how Draco would react, and I am terrified he might find out. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Draco’s reaction to learning that I am in Dumbledore’s Army is not the thing I should be worried about. I should be worried about his reaction to me having Voldemort’s child.

But the twins’ words stick with me. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” I shout at Fred. His wand flies from his hand and lands somewhere behind him. “You have no right to say such things to me, Fred Weasley.” My voice is low and dangerous. “You don't know me well enough.”

“So you’re saying that if you keep coming around to these meetings we might know you well enough to say such things?” he asks, stooping to pick up his wand. “Unfortunately, that might be too late for you. By then, Malfoy might have found out.”

“I’m done having this conversation with you,” I say coolly.

“Just trying to look out for a fellow member of the D.A.,” Fred answers.

“Well, stop. Okay? Stop. It’s _my_ life, so let _me_ worry about it, Weasley.”

“Okay, whatever-your-last-name-is,” Fred answers.

Lee and I go back to practicing _Expelliarmus_ , Lee taking short breaks every now and then to laugh with Fred and George as the twins use the spell against an unsuspecting student – a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw, I believe – until Harry catches them. “Sorry, Harry,” George says hastily. “Couldn’t resist…”

After a few minutes of walking around the room and trying to help people, Harry shouts something. None of us really hear him, and we continue practicing the spell, at least until he blows a whistle. “That wasn’t bad,” he says, “but there’s definite room for improvement. Let’s try again…”

Why did he even stop us if he was just going to tell us to try again?

With the twins no longer distracting us, Lee and I focus solely on the spell, and our performance improves. I can expel his wand half of the time now rather than once every ten tries. And I continue getting better until Hermione calls, “Hey, Harry, have you checked the time?”

Harry blows his whistle again, and silence falls, except for the few wands that clatter to the floor. “Well, that was pretty good,” Harry tells us, “but we’ve overrun, we’d better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?”

“Sooner!” Dean Thomas shouts eagerly, many people quickly nodding their approval.

Angelina Johnson, whom I only know because she is the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and Draco hates her for it, says, “The Quidditch season’s about to start, we need team practices too!”

“Let’s say next Wednesday,” Harry compromises, “and we can decide on additional meetings then… Come on, we’d better get going…”

As I dart out of the Room of Requirement, Fred laughs after me, “Good luck with Malfoy!”

Only as I begin descending the stair to the dungeons do I realize that I’ve missed my first detention with Snape. I immediately speed up, catching sight of the Quidditch team entering the common room when I reach the bottom of the stairs, and sprint toward them. Draco runs into me as he exits the room. “Did you just come from detention?” he asks me quietly. “I tried to get away from practice but…”

“No,” I answer. “I completely forgot. I was with McGonagall.”

Draco takes me by the hand, and we go to Snape’s office. Draco reaches to knock, but Snape flings the door open. “I suggest you release Miss Rodger’s hand. After all, that is what caused all of this in the first place, is it not?” Snape says. Draco instantly releases my hand, and Snape ushers us into his office. “I know that I did not specify a time, but from now on, be here after dinner.”

“But professor,” Draco answers, “what about Quidditch practice.”

Snape raises an eyebrow. “You can go after your detention.” He sits down behind his desk and takes out some papers and beings reading them.

“Sir, what are we supposed to be doing exactly?” Draco asks quietly.

“Sitting there,” Snape replies, “without talking.”

“But…how is this detention?” I ask him.

Snape sets his quill down. “Draco has been a rather well-behaved student since his first year. He fell into the common temptation of young witches and wizards. I am not going to punish him.”

I look over at Draco. He seems just as confused as I do. “What about me?” I ask. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind just sitting here…”

“As for you, I simply do not want to waste my time by giving separate detentions. Consider yourself lucky to be associated with Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco looks over at me, grinning, about to say something, until I give him a small shake of the head. “Remain silent,” Snape says. “If you weren’t in my House, punishment would be worse.” And I believe him. There’s no doubt that Snape is nicer to the Slytherins.

After nearly an hour and a half of silence, Snape lets us leave his office and go back to the Slytherin Dungeons.

We enter the common room, say goodbye with a swift hug, and migrate to our separate dormitories. I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits my pillow.

 

My fear of Draco learning that I am in Dumbledore’s Army makes the next two weeks some of the most stressful in my life. At least the knowledge of being part of the D.A., being a part of the rebellion against Umbridge, the very thing she feared the most, gives me some satisfaction during these long days. Nothing will ever be able to take that away from me, not even if Draco learns the truth, because I still managed to be a part of the rebellion.

But that day has not come yet, and Draco still as no idea.

The D.A. meetings so far have been sporadic and unpredictable, which I suppose is a good thing because no one will be able to guess when the next one will be and that will make it harder for anyone who is watching the group. If it weren’t for my Arithmancy class with Hermione, I doubt I would know when _any_ of the meetings are, which is why, when I am sitting in the common room working on homework, my heart drops when Snape steps in and calls for me. Tonight was another meeting, and if I can't get away from him before then, I fear I might miss it.

I begrudgingly follow the professor to his office and tentatively take a seat in front of his desk. Snape looks increasingly uncomfortable. “Rodgers,” he begins, watching me closely – he can't possibly know about my involvement in, or even the existence of, the D.A., can he? – “I have received word from Malfoy Manor –”

“I’m not going back there,” I state evenly. “ _I’m not going back there_.”

“You will if the Dark Lord commands it,” he sneers. I gulp, looking away from him. “However, you are not being summoned.”

I force my eyes to meet his. “I…I’m not?” I whisper, hope rising in my chest.

He shakes his head and answers softly, “The Dark Lord would like an update on your well-being and has tasked me –”

“You’re basically asking me how my life is going?” I laugh. “Professor Severus Snape finally caring about his students’ welfare. This is fantastic!”

“Rodgers, you must take this seriously,” he commands. “I must report back to the Dark Lord to ensure that you are being well taken care of.”

“So you want to prove that you can successfully ‘babysit’ a fifteen-year-old witch?” I ask sarcastically. “Let me just say: you’re not doing that good of a job, Professor.”

His lip curls. “Would you prefer the Dark Lord remove you from Hogwarts and detain you inside Malfoy Manor or perhaps worse – Azkaban? Or perhaps you believe he will be kind enough to simply lock you away in a comfortable, inescapable place until he is ready for you.”

I take a deep, shaky breath. “Is this really necessary, Professor?” All joking has left my voice. “Couldn’t you just lie and say I’m doing fine?”

“It had crossed my mind,” he answers slowly, “but I do not trust you, and I believe you would tell the truth if asked, the truth that I never consulted you about your life here at Hogwarts.”

I sigh. There isn't enough time for this. “So what would you like to ask me, Professor?”

He shifts in his chair and rubs the back of his neck. “He wants to know how you are faring here at Hogwarts.”

“I want you to ask me the question,” I reply, not caring that this could put me even later getting to the Room of Requirement.

He glares at me.

“Ask me the question so that I may answer.”

Snape clenches teeth and growls, “How are you doing now that you are at the school?”

I smirk at him. “I’m eating really well, much better than I ate for the last five years, let me tell you.”

“And?”

“I never have to wonder where I will be sleeping, so that’s nice. And the bed itself is pretty comfortable – though I’m sure you already know that considering you went here as well, didn’t you? Come to think of it, Voldemort went here, too, right?”

“Do not use the Dark Lord’s name.” I roll my eyes at him as discreetly as I can. “Do you…feel safe here?” He clears his throat. “Are you comfortable? Are you coming to terms with your duty to the Dark Lord? Are you able to handle the workload you have now?”

“If I say ‘yes’ to all of that, will I be free to leave?”

“Rodgers, this must be taken seriously.”

I huff at him. “I feel safer here than I ever have. I am more comfortable now than I have ever been. Yes, I am fully prepared to serve the Dark Lord in whatever he needs of me. I thoroughly despise the workload, but I guess I’m doing okay. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Is that the truth?”

“It’s as close to the truth as _you’re_ going to get.”

“Detention,” he states. “I will accept disrespect from no one, not even the Dark Lord’s future bed slave.”

My anger flares to a degree I do not believe it has ever reached before, and I am on my feet almost immediately. With one swift motion, I swipe everything off this jackass’s desk, for no other reason than to be a nuisance, all of it clattering to the floor. Then I whip out my wand and jab it against his neck. “DO NOT CALL ME THAT!”

Snape does not look the least bit affected by my wand against his neck. “I take it that you are not, in fact, doing well with your duty to the Dark Lord?”

My wand quavering, I growl, “I am not having this conversation with you.” I lower my weapon, spin on my heel, and stalk toward the door, only to find that it is locked with magic and I am unable to open it. My voice is weak when I say, “Please just let me leave.”

“I believe I gave you a detention,” Snape answers loftily.

“And I have to serve it now?” I ask icily. “I have things I need to do.”

“You should have thought of that before disrespecting your professor.”

“And what must I do for this detention?” I sigh.

“You may start by cleaning up the mess you’ve made of my desk.”

I glower at him. “And when I finish that, _Professor_?”

“What you did during your detentions with Malfoy should suffice.”

“I thought that was special treatment because of who he is?” I point out.

“I do not believe you are a real student, therefore I see no point in punishing you as I would other students.”

“So why punish me at all?”

“To teach you respect, something you are sorely lacking but will certainly need when you face the Dark Lord.”

I begin picking up everything that had been on his desk moments before, glaring at him. He either does not notice or simply does not give a damn.

The moment Snape releases me from his office, I dash up the stairs, trying to make it to the Room of Requirement before the D.A. meeting ends, only to find the members filing out. I’ve missed it. I wait in the corridor, planning to ask Hermione what I’ve missed.

Fred and George Weasley leave the room and wave obnoxiously to me, laughing at their own false excitement. I wave back and pointedly look away, hoping they’ll take the hint. They don’t. “You missed the meeting,” Fred says.

“We went over some really important things,” George adds.

“Like how we’re to get in touch with each other,” Fred continues.

“Without drawing suspicious looks when Gryffindors talk to a Slytherin,” George finishes.

I smile. “Like you’re both doing right now?” I ask.

“And like you’re doing,” Fred answers.

“So you’re being just as much a House traitor as we are, if you think about it,” George says. They begin walking off. “Tell Malfoy to watch his back!” George calls over his shoulder.

“Why is that?” I ask them.

Fred answers, “As Beaters for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, it’s our job to knock him off his broom!” They disappear down the stairs, laughing.

A few minutes later, the Golden Trio exits the room. “What did I miss?” I ask them.

“Where were you?” Ron asks.

“Detention with Snape,” I answer swiftly.

“For what?” he proceeds to ask me.

“Long story.” I look at Harry and Hermione. “What did I miss?”

Hermione hands me a Galleon and begins explaining what it is and how it works. It’s a Protean Charm. I flip it over in my hand, examining it, as she explains that when Harry charms his Galleon to say a date and time, ours will get hot and the numbers on the edges will tell us when that time is. The more she describes it, giving me more detail than I really need, the more quickly I feel my face draining of heat. My breathing and my heartbeat quickens. I glance up to look at the three of them, realizing that they can see that something is wrong with me. They’re all watching me intently while Hermione continues telling me about the charmed Galleon.

When at long last she finally stops, it is difficult to find my voice, but I do. “Is…is this…” I swallow down my flaring panic. What if I say too much and they figure out I’m not really who I say I am? But I can’t stop myself. “Where did you get this idea?” I ask slowly.

“I read about it in a book,” Hermione says.

I rub my mouth with my hand. “What book?”

“I don’t remember the title.” Now I know she’s lying. She wouldn’t forget a title. I don't know too much about her, but I definitely know that much. “Why does it matter?”

I drop the Galleon into my pocket. Looking them all in the eyes, I prepare to call them out on the lie. But my brain moves too quickly, and before I can stop it, something else slips out, “This works the same as the Dark Mark, yes? The sign of the Death Eaters –” I freeze. I’ve just crossed a line. I’ve said far too much.

“How do you know about that?” Ron asks quickly.

“Isn't it common knowledge?” I try.

“The Dark Mark itself is, yeah,” Ron says, “but not the way they comm –”

I cut Ron off and say, “Well, good luck in the Quidditch match,” before spinning around and walking off as fast as possible without drawing any more attention to myself, realizing after I turn the corner that I’ve only made myself way more suspicious. I should have stood there and answered their questions rather than running away. _What have I done?_

Time does not allow me to answer this question, for I am already back at the Slytherin Dungeons. And for the first time since I have been here at Hogwarts, it sounds like they are singing. The Slytherins. Singing. Together. I am uncomfortable, but seconds later, it ends, and I am content to believe I had simply been hearing things. Regardless, I enter the common room, and Draco, as well as a few of the others, glances up to see who has entered. The Malfoy boy stands and comes to me, kissing my cheek before saying, “You missed practice.”

“Practice? Draco, did you fall off your broom? You know I’m not on the team,” I answer.

Draco laughs, a genuine laugh that makes my stomach flip, and I can't help but smile back at him. “No, no, not the Quidditch practice,” he replies. “We were practicing the song.”

“Song?”

“For the match against Gryffindor. ‘Weasley is our King.’”

_Oh no._

“I’ll help you learn it when we’ve got a chance.”

“Okay,” I say, gulping down my regret. Nothing good will come from this, I can already tell.

He puts his hand on my back and leads me to one of the sofas, where we take a seat. “So where were you?”

“Detention with Snape,” I sigh.

“Again?” he laughs. “What happened this time? Not caught with another bloke, were you?”

I nudge him. “Never. I was… Apparently I ‘disrespected’ him. So he gave me detention on the spot. I don't know, it was stupid.” Though really, Snape had every right to give me detention for flinging everything off his desk and threatening him. The real question is why he was so lenient.

I feel guilty now when I used to never feel guilty about lying. And it’s only when I lie to Draco that I feel guilty. I don't know what that means. But I’m not sure if I like it. I look back at him to find him staring at me, smiling. Is there something in my teeth? “Are you tired?” he asks.

“I…I don't believe so.”

He laughs again, and heat rises to my cheeks. “I was just wondering, you seem distracted.”

“Perhaps I was,” I answer.

Draco raises his eyebrows and leans in. “And just what was distracting my dear Charlotte?” My stomach does another flip. This close, in the light of the common room, his normally gray eyes are nearly green, with little specks of yellow. For a fleeting moment, I have the urge to be this close to him while bathed in an array of different colors, just to see how many other tones his eyes can take.

“You,” I say with a wink. More than anything in this moment, stronger than even my feeling of guilt, I want to feel his lips on mine again, because when he kisses me, I can almost forget about everything that is wrong in my life. He watches me closely for a moment, and just when the longing becomes unbearable, Draco’s lips meet mine, and his warmth banishes my guilt and sorrow. One of his hands comes to a rest on my hip, the other behind my neck, and I lose myself in his minty breath and soft lips, my fingers tightly grabbing the collar of his shirt.

Someone beside us clears their throat, and Draco and I pull apart, smiling at each other for a moment before turning to see who needed to get our attention. It’s Pansy, and I have to physically restrain myself from yelling at her. “Yes?” Draco asks, his voice strained.

“You are a Prefect,” Pansy growls at him. “Act like one.” Then she stalks off.

Draco looks at me, eyes wide. With false horror, he says, “Looks like I’m in trouble.”

“Perhaps we should set a good example by working on homework,” I laugh.

He smirks. “Could you help me again with Transfiguration, Professor Rodgers? Maybe this time help me move my wand correctly, as I needed you to do in class?”

I lean forward and rest my forehead on his shoulder for a moment before sighing, “Why not?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte begrudgingly begins growing loyal to Slytherin

I don't understand the extraordinary appeal that Quidditch seems to have at Hogwarts. With the first match of the season, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, quickly approaching, I begin to see just how much of a hold this sport has on the staff and students here. McGonagall, doing something I once considered impossible, gives no homework for the week leading up to the game. From what I hear (thanks to Hermione), she did it so the Gryffindors could have more time to practice.

Snape shows some more of his nasty characteristics, turning a blind eye to the Slytherins trying to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors, not listening to the multiple eyewitness accounts when a Gryffindor is put in the hospital wing because of the Slytherins. Quidditch will tear this school apart, it seems.

Slytherin is the team I feel I have to pull for, considering it’s my House, but I’m not sure if I want to. The players on this team are evil, trying to hurt the others and give themselves the advantage, harming other students over a silly sport. But when I see the way _every single House_ roots against Slytherin, an odd feeling of resentment flares, and while it might be short-lived, I must face the fact that no matter how much I dislike being a Slytherin, I _am_ a Slytherin. And Slytherin House is the first place I have been safe in a long time. I’m proud, I guess, to be part of my House even though it has such a bad reputation.

And I’m angry that the other Houses assume that all Slytherins are evil and bigoted. I’m not. Astoria isn't. Malcolm seems to not be.  I’m angry that none of us are truly ever given a chance. I mean, the other Houses _booed_ eleven-year-old children for being Sorted into Slytherin. Those children couldn’t help it. And they were booed by the majority of the other students here. How is that fair? No wonder all of these Slytherins hate the rest of the Houses. From the moment they were Sorted, the other Houses hated them.

I suppose I feel bad for Ron though. The Slytherins torment him with constant insults, presumably to throw him off and make it even harder for him to play when the game actually arrives. The Slytherins actually spend time in the common room coming up with insults to fling at him. Draco imitates dropping a Quaffle every single time he sees Ron around the castle, some Slytherins ask him things like, “Got your bed booked in the hospital yet?”

Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and I pass the Golden Trio on the way to class, and Pansy, trying to impress Draco no doubt, calls to Harry, “Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington’s sworn to knock you off your broom Saturday.”

Harry quickly responds with, “Warrington’s aim’s so pathetic I’d be more worried if he were aiming for the person next to me.” Hermione and Ron laugh loudly, and I have to bite my lip and look away so as not to laugh with them. The smirk fades from Pansy’s face, her cheeks going scarlet as she glances at Draco.

But there is one good thing that comes from this ridiculous House rivalry. There is so much going on that I find it easy to be distracted when October becomes November and brings me one step closer to Voldemort. Later this month I will turn sixteen, and I will be that much closer to being forced to fulfill my duty.

The moment I get to the common room on the morning of the match), Draco rushes over to me and says, “Come with me,” before taking my hand and bringing me to the stairs that lead to the boys’ dormitory. “We’ve got to get you dressed like you actually want Slytherin to win today.” The boys’ dormitory is the same as the girls’, a large circular room at the top of the steps with seven doors, one for each year. Draco leads me to the one for the fifth-years, and we enter. There are five four-poster beds, just like it is in the girls’ dormitory. “I got some stuff out earlier.” His bed is full of green and silver apparel. “I figured you wouldn’t want to overdo it, so I chose things that wouldn’t draw too much attention.”

“I appreciate it,” I say with a smile.

He grins at me and reaches for a black jacket, holding it up so I can see it. As far as I can tell, it is a normal jacket, until he turns it around so I can see the back. It has been charmed to show a wonderfully intricate green serpent slithering around on the back. “And that’s not all,” he said, tapping it with his wand. Joining the servant on the back is now a roaring lion. The serpent strikes and digs its fangs into the lion’s neck. The lion then topples over onto its side slowly fades away before the whole scene starts over again. “I can change it depending on what team we’re against!” I take the jacket from him and put it on, enjoying how it is just a little too big for me and how the sleeves reach the knuckles on my fingers. Draco grabs something else. “And these can help you stay warm when you’re cheering me on.” He winks, now holding a scarf in the air. “I’d hate for you to get cold. May I?”

I nod, and Draco takes a step toward me, gingerly wrapping the Slytherin scarf around my neck. My breath catches in my throat. Then he takes my hair and pulls it free from the scarf, letting it fall free around my shoulders. “Slytherin green looks good on you,” he comments quietly before reaching back to the bed for one more thing. “And one last thing to keep you warm: a hat.” Now he is holding a Slytherin green knit cap.

Before he has a chance to try putting it on my head, I say, “I’ll just slide that into my pocket for now so I don't burn alive in the Great Hall.” He watches me, joy in his eyes, as I slide the hat into the pocket of the jacket. “And now, I’d like to give you something.”

“Is that so?” he asks quietly.

“Oh yes, I can't borrow all of this without giving you _something_ in return.” He smirks at me, and I can wait no longer. I quickly close the gap between us and cover my lips with his, savoring his quiet gasp of surprise and his peppermint breath. A moment later I pull away, my stomach still full of butterflies. “We need to get to breakfast so you have time to eat before the match.”

“Fine,” he sighs.

I take him by the hand and lead him back to the common room where we meet back up with his clan to go to the Great Hall. “Oh,” Draco says suddenly when we reach the Slytherin table, “I forgot to give you this.” He hands me a crown-shaped badge that says _Weasley Is Our King_. “Sorry you weren’t able to make it to any of the practices, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it either way.”

This can't be good.

When Ron walks into the Great Hall, the Slytherins erupt in laughter and point to their badges. I suddenly feel even worse to be a part of this.

“Are you nervous?” I ask Draco quietly when we begin eating.

“No, not at all,” he declares.

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle talk cheerily about the upcoming game, and I sit there quietly, watching Draco’s eyes light up at the prospect of beating Harry and catching the Snitch. I wish he was happier like this more often.

I break away from him when we get down to the Quidditch pitch. He goes off with the team, and I move away to the stands. Astoria and Malcolm, who are as close to the announcer’s box as possible, wave me over, and I gladly accept their invitation. “I don't want to sing the song,” Astoria says quietly.

“I don't even know what the song is,” I laugh. “I always tended to be busy during the practices.”

“Lucky for you,” Malcolm sighs. “It’s repulsive.”

“Great,” I say dryly. “Things like this are why Slytherin has such a bad reputation.”

The teams meet each other on the pitch, and the captains move to the middle to shake hands. The players mount their brooms, the balls are released, and the match begins. Draco flies high above the other players with Harry, searching for the Snitch.

Lee Jordan begins his commentary:

“And it’s Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is. I’ve been saying it for years but she still won’t go out with me –”

“JORDAN!” yells McGonagall.

“Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest – and she’s ducked Warrington, she’s passed Montague, she’s – ouch – been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe…Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and – nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that’s a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet’s away –”

Somehow, Lee Jordan manages to be heard over all of the cheering and booing from the crowds.

“– dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger – close call, Alicia – and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what’s that they’re singing?”

 _Weasley cannot save a thing,_  
He cannot block a single ring,  
That’s why Slytherins all sing:  
Weasley is our King.

 _Weasley was born in a bin,_  
He always lets the Quaffle in,  
Weasley will make sure we win  
Weasley is our King.

“This is the song they’ve been practicing?” I growl.

Astoria sighs.

“– and Alicia passes back to Angelina!” Lee’s rising voice is trying to drown out the Slytherin song. “Come on now, Angelina – looks like she’s just got the Keeper to beat! – SHE SHOOTS – SHE – aaaah…”

The Keeper, I feel as if I should know his name considering he’s in my House, saves the goal. After that, I stop paying any attention. I don’t see how this is so popular here at Hogwarts. In fact, I don’t see why it’s so popular in the Wizarding World. Though, had I grown up around it, I would probably care more. Had Uncle Al kept me, I might even be on the team. Maybe he would have taught me to fly and play Quidditch. Maybe he would have taught me more about magic. I put the thoughts aside. There’s no way to change the past.

The Slytherin crowd gets louder as the Quaffle is carried down the pitch, straight toward the Gryffindor goal. I look away. I don’t know who to pull for. Sure, Slytherin is my House, but I pity for Ron.

A goal is scored on Ron, and the Slytherins erupt in cheers, their song now becoming even louder. _Why was I put in Slytherin?_ I ignore Lee and the Slytherins and focus on Draco, who is flying around, high in the sky. I wonder what that is like, to be above the ground, to be like the owls I watched before the other students arrived for the start of the term.

I rise to my feet as Draco races Harry for what I can only assume is the Snitch. Harry and Draco are stretching out as far as they can, zooming through the air as fast as their brooms will take them, and then Harry’s hand closes around the Snitch. The Gryffindors, and the other Houses, too, because they are rooting for Gryffindor, shout their approval.

It all happens too quickly. A Bludger flies right at Draco and Harry, and I am unable to breathe. It rams into Harry’s back. Madam Hooch, the referee, blows her whistle. She flies up to Crabbe, who is apparently a sore loser. I look back around the pitch for the blond-haired boy and smile, calming down when I see that Draco is fine. Draco begins teasing Harry about something, but I can't read his lips. Angelina and two other Gryffindor players hold Fred back while Harry does his best to keep George from charging forward and attacking Draco. I can only imagine what Draco must be saying to get that kind of rise out of them.

_Draco, please stop._

Then it happens. Harry releases George, and the two of them rush forward. Harry’s fist connects with Draco’s gut, but they don't let up, continuing to wail into him, until Madam Hooch hits them with a spell and knocks them backward. Draco is curled on the ground, obviously in pain, and all I want to do I rush down to him. Harry and George march off the pitch at the command of Madam Hooch.

Crabbe and Goyle finally get Draco to his feet, and I can see Draco’s smirk from here.

“I don't even want to know what Malfoy could have said to cause all of that,” Astoria groans.

I look away from her and Malcolm, thinking the same thing. It had to have been worse than the song, or else they wouldn’t have attacked. And if it was worse than that song, I am afraid to know what was said.

The spectators, after the thrill of the fight dies away, exit the stands and leave the Quidditch pitch behind, but the only thing I hear people talking about is what happened on the pitch, trying to figure out what Draco had said. The only people who know what exactly it wasare either in trouble for fighting or have already disappeared from the pitch or are in the hospital wing, as is the case with Draco.

So that’s where I go. I need to check on him, possibly slap him once on the arm for whatever he did. By the time I get to the hospital wing, Draco is leaving, and he smiles at me. “What’d Pomfrey say?” I ask.

“I’ll have some bruises, but I am perfectly fine other than that.” He takes my hand. “However, I would like to go rest a bit, all things considered. Would you like to join me?”

“Is that even a question?” I ask him.

He grins, and we head down to the Slytherin Dungeons. “What’s it like, being free in the air?” I ask him.

He looks at me with an odd expression. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” I answer. “It just seems that, when you’re flying on a broom up in the air, nothing can stop you. What’s that like…that feeling of freedom?”

“Have – have you never flown before?” he asks me quietly.

If he knew my true past, he wouldn’t have asked. But he doesn’t know, which reminds me that I haven't told him the truth about myself and brings back that awful wave of guilt. I clear my throat. “They didn’t allow it at Durmstrang unless you were on the Quidditch team. Which I never was.” This explanation sounds unreasonable to me, but he doesn’t question it.

“I’ll have to teach you then,” he tells me.

“I’d like that,” I answer. We enter the common room and go to the sofa in front of the fire. I remove my hat and scarf but keep on his oversized jacket. Draco slips his arm around me when we sit down, and I cuddle next to him. “Are you in pain?”

“Nothing I can't handle,” he replies. “Like I said, just some bruises. But I was expecting it, honestly. I was trying to provoke them.”

“Why?” Who would want to have someone attack them? I mean, honestly, when I was on the run I did anything _not_ to provoke the people who wanted to harm me. Well, most of the time I tried not to provoke them.

“I knew if they attacked, they’d be suspended from playing for a while.”

Such a Slytherin thing to do.

He changes the subject. “Your birthday’s this month, right?”

“Yeah.” Even to me, my voice sounds dead. The closer I get to seventeen, the closer I become to being a slave of Voldemort. I try not to think about it. “Sixteen!” I say in a falsely cheery voice.

“I’m dating an older woman,” Draco laughs.

“Well, apparently I _am_ a professor, so…”

He laughs louder, his chest vibrating, and my stomach does yet another flip. “And I fully expect you, Professor Rodgers, to help me learn that Vanishing Spell before this term is over.”

“We’d better get to working then,” I answer. “Term ends next month.”

“Thank Merlin,” he sighs. “I need to get out of this place for a while.”

I smile sadly. I don't want him to leave, I don't want to be trapped here without him. But he has a family – Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, who might not be the best family to have, but at least he has a family, and that’s something I have never been able to say – so he has to go home. He has to go see them. If his mother wouldn’t let him go to Durmstrang because that was too far from her, I am completely positive that she wouldn’t let him stay at Hogwarts over Christmas.

Draco takes a deep breath. “Speaking of getting out of here for a while… What, um…where…so what…do you have anywhere to go for Christmas?” His voice is quieter than usual.

I’m fairly certain the Muggle owners of the house I’ve been “borrowing” are home by now. I feel heat flush my face. “N-no,” I answer. “I’ll probably…just stay here.”

“Don’t do that! I’ll owl my mother and see if it’s okay for you to come to our house,” Draco suggests. “I’m sure she won’t mind. She’s been wanting to meet you.”

“Thanks,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze. He must not have told her who I am.

With the prospect of going to Malfoy Manor again, I don’t know how to feel. I’m excited that I can get out of Hogwarts for a while, but I am horrified by how I might be received when I get there. After all, Lucius hates me. And Narcissa was kind of cold toward me. Maybe if they see how happy Draco is with me they’ll put all of those harsh feelings behind them. But I doubt it.

“Draco!” a voice yells. We turn our heads to see Pansy rushing forward. “First of all, great game,” I roll my eyes. “Second of all, have you heard the news?” She seems positively angry, or frustrated, or a mixture of both with a slight amount of glee mixed in.

“What news?” he asks lazily.

“Hagrid is back.”

“The dim oaf?” Draco growls. “Class was just fine without him!”

“But,” Pansy points out, “Umbridge will have a chance to tear him apart!”

Draco starts laughing wickedly. “What I wouldn’t give to see the Golden Trio defend him against her! Just when I thought this day could get no better! Thank you, Pansy.”

She blushes. “You’re very welcome, Draco. How are you feeling?”

“Much better now, actually.” He pushes himself to his feet, trying to muffle his groan. “I’m feeling much, much better now.” Then he offers me his hand and helps me to my feet. “Come on, Charlotte, I fancy a walk around the castle. If you want to come with me, that is.”

“Of course I would,” I answer.

Draco offers me his arm, and I take it. “We’ll see you around, Pansy.” Then the two of us walk out of the common room and leave the Slytherin Dungeons behind.

“So I might regret asking this,” I begin, “but what exactly happened on the Quidditch pitch earlier? I mean, I know you were trying to provoke them, but what was said?”

He smiles. “I told Potter about the other verses I had planned for ‘Weasley Is Our King’ but had been unable to finish because no words rhymed with ‘fat’ and ‘ugly’ and ‘pathetic loser.’ Those twins heard and finally realized what I was saying, then they attacked me like animals.”

“But Ron isn't fat,” I say calmly. “How would that have offended them?”

He glances at me. “Those weren’t talking about _him_ ,” he says matter-of-factly. “No, those particular insults were about his mother and father.”

I bring us to a stop. “What?” I whisper.

“You know, I was saying that his mum is fat and ugly and that his father is a pathetic loser.” I clench my fist by my side, taking slow, even breaths. “But what really set them off is when I pointed out that Potter must only like spending time with the Weasleys because the stink of their house reminds him of the stink of his mother’s house and – what’s wrong?”

“Draco,” I say, trying to calm myself, “I grew up in a Muggle orphanage. I was taken from my parents before I was a year old. I know what it’s like to not remember –”

“Charlotte, I didn’t…those weren’t about you…I mean –”

“It doesn’t matter if they weren’t about me, because I am in his position –”

“But they weren’t directed at you, Charlotte,” he tries.

“ _That doesn’t matter_ ,” I hiss. “You mocked someone because they don't remember their mother, and I just…” I look away from him. With everything that I’ve kept from him, I know I have no right to be angry, but I can't help it. I never knew my mother. She chose her crime over me. And I grew up alone because of it. “I need a minute. I’ll meet up with you later, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, I walk off. I really need to find Fred and George and Harry and offer them my apologies.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte grows a bit as a person and student at Hogwarts and decides to tell the truth finally.

The only place I imagine I can find Fred, George, and Harry all at once will be in the Gryffindor common room. Unfortunately, I’ve no idea where that is, so I am wandering around the castle aimlessly, hoping I might get lucky and stumble upon someone who will be able to help me. Even if I can't find them, it feels good to take a minute away from Draco. I get that he wasn’t trying to offend me, but…what he said just…I don't know, it hurt because, while my parents didn’t leave me an orphan by standing against Voldemort and dying bravely as Harry’s parents had done, I still am in the same position as Harry—I’ve never known my parents and I never will.

A young boy with mousy brown hair and a Gryffindor tie walks by me—why is he wearing the uniform on the weekend?—whom I recognize from Dumbledore’s Army, and I turn immediately. “Hey!” I call after him.

He turns around, his big brown eyes curious. “Hello,” he replies.

“Can you help me?”

“I can try.”

I smile at him. “Can you lead me to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room? I’m trying to find someone.”

“Who’re you trying to find?”

“Harry Potter and the Weasley twins,” I admit.

He nods. “The Gryffindor Tower is this way.”

Right. Of course Gryffindor gets a tower while Slytherin gets the dungeons. Why was I placed in Slytherin exactly? “What’s your name?” I ask him.

“Colin. And you?”

“Charlotte.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte.”

“Likewise.”

“What House are you in? I recognize you from the D.A.”

“I’m in Slytherin.”

“Slytherin? Really? And you’re in the D.A.?”

“Not all of us fit into the stereotype,” I laugh.

“I would certainly hope not.” We stop in front of a portrait of a fat lady, which I soon learn is actually called The Fat Lady. “You seem like a good enough person because you’re in the D.A., Charlotte, so I am going to trust that you will forget what I say next.” He looks at The Fat Lady. “Mimbulus Mimbletonia.” The portrait swings open, and I get but a glimpse at the Gryffindor common room. From what little I can see, I am certain it is more comfortable than the Slytherin Dungeons. “Wait here, and I’ll go see if they’re in right now.”

The Fat Lady closes after Colin, and she watches me closely until Colin returns. “Harry is nowhere to be found, but Fred and George are in. Fred says he will only answer if you tell him your last name.”

I sigh but say, “Tell Fred that I will tell him my last name in person if he comes out here.”

Colin nods and leaves me standing there again. A few moments later, he returns. “Fred says that’s not good enough. He must know your last name before he comes out here.”

I shake my head and fight a smile. “What is George saying?”

“George isn't speaking right now.”

“Fine,” I huff. “Tell Mr. Weasley that I will tell him my last name and answer any _one_ question if he comes out here within the next minute.”

Colin nods again and enters the common room once more. Less than a minute later, the portrait swings open, and Fred and George exit. “Well, we’re here. What is so important?” Fred asks coolly, his face grave and unapproachable, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes unreadable but dark.

“My last name is Rodgers,” I say quietly.

“What do you want, Rodgers?” Fred asks curtly.

I take a shaky breath. “I realize you’re angry—”

“Of course we’re bloody angry,” he growls. “You’re boyfriend got us banned from ever playing Quidditch again!”

“He—what?”

“Umbridge banned Harry, George, and me from ever playing Quidditch again! So what do you want? Because I’m not in the mood for conversation.”

“Draco told me what he said,” I reply. “And—”

“And are you still dating him?” George finally speaks.

“Well, yes, but—”

“If you can deal with his shit, all the more power to you, but I see no reason to continue this conversation if you’re siding with that damn pureblood supremacist,” Fred declares. He and George turn to leave me standing there, but I can't let them leave just yet, so I reach out and grab Fred’s hand. “Is she touching me, George?” His voice is low and dangerous, but I do not let go. He glances over his shoulder. “Let go of me, Rodgers.”

“Not until you listen to me, Weasley,” I answer.

Slowly, the twins turn back around. “You have our attention. What do you want?” Fred watches me closely, and I finally release his hand.

“I want to apologize.”

Fred’s face softens slightly. “Apologize for what, exactly?”

“For the things that Draco said. It…it was uncalled for… I’m sorry, Fred, George. I’m sorry, I really, truly am.”

They watch me silently for a moment, and I shift my gaze from one to the other. After a few minutes of this, Fred sighs and says, “George, I guess she wasn’t even the one who said it, was she?”

George glances at his brother. “I suppose you’re right.”

“But,” Fred adds, “if you’d like to prove that you’re sorry, you can test our new addition to our Skiving Snackboxes.”

“I’ll do it,” I promise.

The twins smile at me.

“And I believe you are entitled to asking me any _one_ question that I have to answer. But if you’re going to ask me why I’m still with Draco, I’m afraid—”

“No, I don't want to ask that,” Fred quickly interjects. “You’ll see the truth about him soon enough, I’m sure, because what he did today won't be the last thing he ever does that is appalling.” He smirks at his own comment. “No, I want to know why you care. Why does a Slytherin care about something Malfoy said so much that she came to apologize?”

I look away from them. “I can't answer that…”

“I believe it was part of our deal,” Fred replies.

“Yes, but orders from—” I stop and take a breath. “Okay, but if I answer this I’m not trying the Snackboxes.”

“Deal,” Fred says quickly.

“It…Draco told me…I was okay with…” I don't even know how to go about explaining this. “He said something about your mother and father, something designed to insult them, but that…that’s not really why…I mean, it was uncalled for as well…it really set me off that…”

Fred watches me closely; George looks away.

I take a deep breath. “I was angry when he said those things about your parents, but what really set me off was the thing he said to Harry, something about the ‘stink’ of your house reminding him of the ‘stink’ of his mother’s house.” My eyes dart away from them for a moment before I pull them back to meet Fred’s gaze. “I never knew my mother, the feel of her arms around me while I cried, the smell of her, or her house after being away for a long while, the pride in her eyes when I did something right. I never got to experience any of that, and Draco made light of it to mock another person. That is unacceptable. And that is why I came here to apologize.”

“I believe you,” Fred says.

“But now, if you’ll excuse me, there are some things I need to do.” Honestly I just want to get away from them now that I’ve admitted something so personal.

I bid them both goodbye and leave the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower, once again more than a little frustrated that I am living in the dungeons when some students get to live in a tower. I avoid going near the Slytherin Dungeons for the rest of the day. Most of my time is spent at the Owlery, simply so I can overlook the grounds and avoid Draco (why would he come looking for me here when he knows I don't have an owl of any sort?). On the castle grounds, first-years play together, carefree and innocent, wanting nothing out of life other than to have fun. I want that. I want that so badly.

But I am not allowed to have it.

Voldemort has made sure of that.

I’m not allowed to be happy. I’ve been fooling myself by being with Draco. If the Dark Lord finds out that the son of one of his loyal Death Eaters has been holding and kissing his _property_ , Draco will be slaughtered. I can't be with Draco. I can't allow him to be in this sort of danger, not now.

But I want to be with him so badly. He is the first person since I was a child to accept me wholly and completely for who I am—at least, the parts of me that he knows about—and I can't just forget that because of Lord Voldemort. Draco makes me happy, despite his flaws. And for the first time since the orphanage, I am happy. _I am safe_. And it’s because of Draco. If it wasn’t for him, I would have used the Room of Requirement months ago to escape. And I no doubt would have been hunted and detained, probably in Malfoy Manor, but wanting to be with Draco stopped me.

When dinnertime finally rolls around, I pry myself away from the Owlery and the view of Hogwarts to make my way to the Great Hall. Draco smiles sadly at me as I take a seat next to him, but neither of us says a word to one another throughout the meal. It’s not until we are all filing out of the Great Hall that Draco finally says, “Can we talk?”

I nod, and he pulls me into a quiet corridor, sitting down on a bench with me. I look out the window at the Forbidden Forest, trying to decide if I should spare Draco the danger of being with me or if I can allow myself this one glimmer of happiness.

“I know now that what I said was inappropriate,” he begins. “I mean, I don't regret saying it to Potter and the Weasleys, but I regret that I hurt you. It was unacceptable, and I’m sorry, Charlotte. I care for you a great deal, and I hate that I caused you pain. But if you give me the chance, I promise to make it up to you, and I promise to never hurt you again.”

I choose to be selfish rather than sparing Draco from whatever danger may come his way. “I forgive you,” I answer.

He smiles broadly at me, and I quickly press my lips against his. I will have to find another time to tell him the truth about everything. Now is not the time. Or maybe it is, and I just don't want to.

 

On Monday morning, I am finally able to put a face with “the dim oaf” named Hagrid. He sits at the staff table for breakfast that morning. Fred, George, and Lee sprint up the aisle, shouting with glee, to shake the half-giant’s enormous hands. Draco looks at me darkly. “This is…dreadful,” he says. “It’ll be nice to watch Umbridge tear him to pieces, but I don't want to endanger my life in his ridiculous class to see that.”

So it is with an uneasy stomach that I make my way to Care of Magical Creatures on Tuesday. Draco is extremely disappointed to find that Umbridge will not be joining our first class of the term with Hagrid.

The professor is covered in bruises and cuts, some of those cuts looking as if they are still bleeding. Making him seem even more ominous, he carries over his shoulder what looks to be half of a dead cow. “We’re workin’ in here today!” Hagrid announces, jerking his head toward the dark trees. “Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark…”

Draco’s hand tightens on mine. “What prefers the dark?” he asks loudly to Crabbe, Goyle, and me, a small trace of panic in his voice. “What did he say prefers the dark – did you hear?” Harry smirks at Draco’s discomfort, and after what happened on the Quidditch pitch, I can't say I blame him.

I look up at Draco and whisper, “It’ll be fine.” The blond-haired boy has told me about his first venture into the Forbidden Forest, and I believe I would be spooked, too, if I were him.

I mutter assurances to Draco, not listening to Hagrid. Draco seems to be trying to listen to both of us. I stop talking, but Hagrid doesn’t. I hear him say, “…I reckon I’m probably the on’y person in Britain who’s managed ter train ‘em –”

“And you’re sure they’re trained, are you?” Draco says, his panic more obvious now. “Only it wouldn’t be the first time you’d brought wild stuff to class, would it?” A lot of the surrounding students, not just the Slytherins but the Gryffindors as well, murmur their agreements.

“’Course they’re trained,” Hagrid answers, looking a bit angry as he hoists the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.

“So what happened to your face, then?” Draco demands.

“Mind yer own business!” Hagrid is openly angry now. “Now if yeh’ve finished askin’ stupid questions, follow me!”

We tentatively follow Hagrid and the other students into the forest, and we continue walking for nearly ten minutes before the professor tells us to gather around. “Now, they’ll be attracted by the smell o’ the meat but I’m goin’ ter give ’em a call anyway, ’cause they’ll like ter know it’s me…” He turns makes an odd, loud shrieking call, beckoning some unseen creature to him. Nobody makes a sound, most of us too scared to do anything. Hagrid makes that sound again. I see some of the leaves on the surrounding trees rustle around. A pair of blank, white eyes on a dragon-looking face comes from behind the trees. On its skeletal horse-like body there is a pair of wings. I nudge Draco and point to it.

“What?” Draco asks me.

I look around. Almost everybody has the same confused look as Draco.

“Oh, an’ here comes another one!” Hagrid says. Sure enough, another black skeletal horse with a dragon face and wings appears. “Now…put yer hands up, who can see ‘em?”

There are very few of us who raise our hands.

“Yeah…yeah, I knew you’d be able ter, Harry,” Hagrid says seriously. “An’ you too, Neville, eh? An’ –”

“Excuse me,” Draco sneers, “but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?”

Hagrid points to a cow carcass, which is now being stripped by the creatures.

“What’s doing it?” demands a terrified girl as she retreats behind the nearest tree. “What’s eating it?”

“Thestrals,” Hagrid answers. Hermione makes a sound that suggests she knows what those are supposed to be. “Hogwarts has got a whole heard of ‘em in here. Now, who knows—?”

“But they’re really, really unlucky!” the terrified girl from earlier interrupts him, looking alarmed. “They’re supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once—”

“No, no, no,” Hagrid chuckles, “tha’s jus’ superstition, that is, they aren’ unlucky, they’re dead clever an’ useful! ‘Course, this lot don’ get a lot o’ work, it’s mainly jus’ pullin’ the school carriages unless Dumbledore’s takin’ a long journey an’ don’ want ter Apparate—an’ here’s another couple, look—”

Two more horse creatures quietly come out of the trees. “I think I felt something, I think it’s near me!” the same terrified girl cries.

“Don' worry, it won’ hurt yeh,” Hagrid says patiently. “Righ’, now, who can tell me why some o’ you can see them an’ some can't?”

Hermione raises her hand, and Hagrid says, “Go on then.”

“The only people who can see thestrals are people who have seen death.”

“Tha’s exactly right,” Hagrid replies, “ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, Thestrals—”

“ _Hem, hem_.”

I hadn't even noticed that Umbridge had arrived. Draco smiles at me. “It’s happening!” he whispers gleefully.

When Hagrid does not pay her attention, she makes the same fake cough again.

“Oh hello!” he greets her.

I’m too mesmerized by the creatures to listen to Umbridge loudly mock Hagrid for whatever reasons. I wish I wasn’t able to see these creatures, I really do. But I have seen quite a few deaths in my life, most of them taking place after the orphanage. I don't remove my eyes from the closest thestral, which seems to be looking back at me, until Umbridge comes toward Draco, his posse, and me.

Umbridge looks at Pansy, who has tears of laughter in her eyes. “Do you find that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?”

“No…because…well…it sounds like grunting a lot of the time…”

“Thestrals,” Hagrid continues, “once they’re tamed, have ‘mazin’ sense o’ direction, jus’ tell ‘em where yeh want ter go—”

“Assuming they can understand you, of course,” Draco laughs. Pansy erupts in unnatural giggles, like she does every time Draco makes a joke. I give the Golden Trio a sympathetic glance, silently pleading for their forgiveness. Hermione has tears of fury in her eyes, and I fear I will not be forgiven for this.

Umbridge smiles at Draco and Pansy before turning to Neville. “You can see thestrals, Longbottom, can you?”

He nods.

“Whom did you see die?” she asked, her tone indifferent.

“My…my granddad,” he answers.

“And what do you think of them?”

“Erm,” Neville says, glancing at Hagrid. “Well, they’re…er…okay…”

Umbridge goes on to take this in the worst way possible, and I tune her out as I try to do most of the time when people are being mocked or taunted.

I spend the rest of the class trying to get Hermione’s attention. I need her to know how sorry I am about all of this. She seems to be making a point not to look at me. She’s the only who would be able to convince Harry and Ron that I’m not like the other Slytherins, even if I am in a relationship with one.

Class ends before I speak with Hermione, and we’re making our way back to the castle when Draco steers us in the general direction of the Golden Trio. “I’m surprised so many people _could_ see them,” Ron says. “Three in a class –”

“Yeah, Weasley,” Draco sneers, tightening his grip on my hand, “we were just wondering. D’you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you’d be able to see the Quaffle better?”

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle burst into fits of laughter and break out into a chorus of “Weasley Is Our King.” Ron’s ears turn scarlet, and I can't catch the eyes of any of those three to offer an apology.

“Ignore them, just ignore them,” Hermione says, casting me a furious glare before pulling out her wand and melting some of the snow in front of them.

When we get back into the castle, Draco looks over and says quietly, “You’ve seen someone die, haven't you? You could see the thestrals.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen death,” I answer.

“When? What happened?”

I bite my lip. “Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private after we finish eating?” I ask, glancing around to all of the people sitting near us at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.

Draco leads me from the room after lunch. “Go on,” he encourages me.

“Don’t hate me,” I start.

“Not possible for me to hate you. I promise.” He smiles.

“I’m still the same person.”

He nods.

“When I was a baby, my father left my mother and me. Then she was sent to Azkaban. My Uncle Al took me in, but then he got rid of me, sent me to an orphanage – but I’ve already told you some of this. Anyway, when I turned ten, they gave me a letter, and I learned I was a witch. I went to find my great-uncle.” I wring my hands together. “This is where the lies begin.”

“Okay…”

This is my chance to tell him the truth, at least as much of it as is safe right now. “I stole from Diagon Alley…a lot. I got my wand there, and books to help me learn how to use magic. I’ve been living in caves and Muggle houses since I was ten…” I take a deep breath. “There are people who want me dead, Draco, which is really why I am here.”

“What kind of people?” he asks.

I take a deep breath. “I…I can’t say…” He nods, telling me to continue. “Occasionally, some would find me…I didn’t have another choice…they were going to kill me…it was kill or be killed! I panicked! I know I should have always just run away but…”

Draco takes my hands. “It’s okay. Is that why you’re afraid I would hate you? That you’ve killed someone?” he asks. “You were protecting yourself.”

I nod, unable to tell him that it wasn’t always to protect myself. And I still can't tell him about Voldemort’s plan for me, about his father catching me, and I still can't admit to him or myself that I am truly as bad as the average Death Eater because I, too, have taken the lives of innocent people. “Some people finally found me and brought me here for my own protection. With the professors and Dumbledore and the charms protecting Hogwarts, they thought I would be safe.”

“Who thought you’d be safe?” he asks.

I shrug.

“That’s not so bad.”

“Now you know…everything…” Not really, but I don’t want to tell him everything; I _can’t_ tell him everything.

“You had me worried for a moment.”

Perhaps one day I will be able to tell him the full truth.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte does something risky and dangerous and will probably grow to regret it.

Two weeks later I awaken in a cold sweat. Today I am one step closer to Voldemort. He draws nearer, and I can't stop him because I can't stop time. I roll over to look at the clock. It’s not even five o’ clock yet, but I know that I won't be getting any more sleep. Groaning as quietly as I can, I slide off the bed and dart to the toilet to vomit.

I can't do this today. I can't face anyone. I just need to be alone.

But I can't do that either. I have to pretend that this day is like any other. I have to act like nothing is wrong with me, as a normal person would do on their birthday. So I pull myself to my feet and head down to the common room where I can remain undisturbed and where I can be alone until I can get myself together.

I take a deep breath when I get to the common room and simply look around to make sure that I am, in fact, alone. The only thing out of place is a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on one of the tables. I go grab it, desiring anything to distract myself with. It’s today’s paper, which is weird. How does a student have it already? It doesn’t really matter, I guess. I go to one of the sofas and sit down. After just a few minutes, I decide that there is nothing of interest in the paper for me to read today. At least, there is nothing of interest that can distract me from Voldemort.

As I get up to place the paper back where I found it, there is a loud banging of someone coming down to the common room. My chest constricts with terror at the sound, my heart attempting to kill itself, an irrational fear taking over me that maybe, just maybe, Voldemort has sent one of this Death Eaters to search Hogwarts for me and to kill me. But no, he wouldn’t send any of them here to kill me when he wants me to be alive. And had he wanted me shipped back to him, I’m sure Snape would have been the delivery service, not some random Death Eater sent to Hogwarts to search the castle at random.

I calm when I find myself face-to-face with Draco, who seems just as shocked to find me down here as I am for him to be down here.

“Charlotte?” is all he can muster to say; he’s obviously flustered about something.

“Draco?” I reply.

He saunters over to me and gives me an odd hug. “Happy Birthday…what are doing up so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Couldn’t sleep,” I say simply. “You?”

He holds up a letter. “I got this from my mother, just now. Snape just brought it to me.” There is a slight shake in his hand.

I place a soft hand on his back and steer him to one of the sofas. We sit down. “What’s happened?”

“I’ve told you about You-Know-Who returning,” I nod, signaling for him to continue. I don’t want to discuss Voldemort with him, least of all today. “And you’ve told no one, correct?”

“Of course not,” I answer. “I wouldn’t betray you like that.”

He offers me a weak smile, but it doesn’t fool me. He’s severely troubled. “What I’m about to tell you require the same amount of…discretion.” His eyes pierce through me, and all I can do is nod silently. “The Ministry is hushing it up for now, but I don’t know how much longer that can keep it quiet.” He swallows in what looks like a very painful way. “My aunt and uncle, along with eight others, have broken out of Azkaban. Ten more followers of the Dark Lord are now at large, biding their time until he requires them.”

“How...?”

“I don’t know how they got out,” he says quickly.

“How does…how does your mother know?”

“My father is important in the Ministry. My mother would not have told me had it not been for Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Rodolphus being in the group. Bellatrix is my mother’s sister.” He looks away.

“Where are they now?” I ask quietly.

Draco’s eyes darken when he looks back to me. “My mother isn’t going to turn in her own sister!” he replies defensively. “No one can know!”

“So…they’re with your parents?” I conclude.

“I don’t know about all of them, but my aunt is – her husband and his brother are elsewhere.” He grabs me by the shoulders. “You mustn’t tell anyone!”

I touch his face. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

He smiles as he rests his forehead against mine. “On a lighter note,” he is a lot more relaxed, “she said she’d love for you to come for Christmas.”

“Brilliant.” I kiss him softly.

“I have a gift for you, for your birthday. I’ll be right back.” When he goes to get my gift, I go to get the one I have neglected to give him since our detention. We meet back in the common room moments later. “It’s _your_ birthday, not mine, I don't need anything,” he says.

“This is…because I just want to give you something…you know…because of the necklace,” I say.

“Okay, but you have to open yours first.”

I smile, and we exchange our gifts, his to me considerably larger than mine to him. I tear open the long box and freeze. “Is this…”

“Yes,” he answers. “I told my parents that I was going to teach you to fly.”

I gingerly run my hands along the broom I have just been given. “This is too much,” I whisper.

“No, it’s not,” Draco replies. “It’s a Nimbus 2001. It’s the same kind I have, so I know how it works. I can teach you much more easily.” I try handing it back to him, but he pushes it back to me. “Take it. It’s yours.”

I wipe a few tears from my eyes before they have a chance to escape. “You do too much, Draco.” He shakes his head, denying it. “Open yours now,” I command, though it’s not nearly as good as his gift to me. Draco slowly tears open the gift and pulls out a pocket watch, which seems even more inadequate now that I see it. It’s old and obviously used, scratches having made the family crest on the back hardly readable. “Before you say anything, I want to tell you where it came from.” He nods. I can’t tell if he likes it or not, so I speed up. “When I went back to my Uncle Al’s house, I found this. It’s one of the only things I have that was my family’s…”

“Are you sure you want me to have it?” he asks. “If it’s the only thing you have from them…”

“I’m sure,” I answer. “If…if you want it, that is…”

Draco reaches into his robes and takes out the one he already has and hands it to me. He slips his new-old one into its place. “I love it,” he replies. “Keep that one, just in case you need to know the time.” He smiles, and I put the pocket watch, which is marked with the Malfoy family crest, into my pocket.

“Thanks,” I say quietly, feeling worthless. He’s given me so much, and all I can afford to give him is an old pocket watch. I look down, trying to hide from his prying eyes.

He puts his hand under my chin and looks me in the eye. “It’s perfect, honestly.” He smiles at me. “It’s perfect because it came from you. It’s a part of your life,” he continues, leaning a little closer to me. “Anything from you is perfect to me.” Draco pulls me closer to him, covering my lips with his.

I move the broom aside and snuggle up next to him, his arm around my shoulders, my head on his chest. We throw our feet up on the coffee table in front of us. “I should have gotten you more,” I tell him. “I promise, for Christmas, I’m going to find you a way to get you something really good.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. I silently disagree.

We stay like that until the other Slytherins start filling up the common room. Feeling quite uneasy, I take my broom up to my bed before saying a speedy goodbye to Draco and making my way to Snape’s office. I guess I really shouldn’t be doing this, but I need to know. So, full of apprehension, I knock on his door. “Enter,” is the answer that comes seconds later.

I enter. “Professor,” I say tentatively.

He glances at me. “Rodgers.”

Silently, I close the door behind me and slowly walk toward the chair in front of his desk. “Professor…” This time he looks up and continues watching me. “Am…am I safe here?”

Snape looks curious for just a moment before schooling his features – can't have the students know that the evil, stone-faced professor has a sense of curiosity – and asking, “The charms and spells over the castle and its grounds will keep you safe.”

“From Death Eaters?”

Snape waves his wand at the door, probably to keep our conversation private. “No Death Eater will attempt to harm you. The Dark Lord himself has demanded your safety.”

“That didn’t stop the Death Eaters from attacking me relentlessly over the past five years,” I counter. “Now that some of them have broken free from Azkaban, how can I know that I’m safe? How, Professor?”

“Those particular Death Eaters are insatiable in their desire to please the Dark Lord. They will not harm you because the Dark Lord requires your safety.”

“So you do know that they broke out?”

He remains silent.

“But do you truly believe that, Professor? That the bloodthirsty Death Eaters won't come after me?”

“The Dark Lord will not permit it,” Snape assures me.

I’m not sure if I believe that, though.

 

December not only brings colder weather but also loads of homework for fifth-years. Why I have to do all of this when I’m not even a true student, I’ll never know. Either way though, I’m forced to do it. So I do it grudgingly, acquiescingly, _angrily_. Draco and I sit alone at one of the tables, writing an essay for History of Magic. It’s absolutely miserable, but with Quidditch practice being almost every day now, doing homework together is really the only time we have except for meals.

lowly but surely, most of the students drift to their dormitories. Having hardly done any work while Draco was at practice, I have just as much left as he does, so we both stay in the common room, silently working. After what could have very well been ages, I write the final word of my essay and just stare at it. If my life depended on it, I couldn’t repeat any of what I wrote. I glance up at Draco, who is still intently writing his own essay.

A chill runs over me. When everyone migrates out of the common room, the temperature drops drastically, and that’s typically when I move close to the fire. So that’s what I do this time, and I sit down on the floor with my back to the flames. Draco looks up at me and puts his quill down. “Did you finish?” I ask him.

“Not even close,” he says, coming toward me. He sits down next to me, his back to the fire as well.

We’re silent for a few minutes, just enjoying the heat.

Finally, he puts his hand on top of mine. Draco has questioned the change in me that he has noticed since my birthday, but I usually shirk it off. I know it’s killing him. Then it comes: his question. “What’s wrong?”

I fold my legs into a pretzel and turn to him, keeping my hand with his. “It’s…it’s…Voldemort,” I say quietly.

His eyes slightly widen. “What about him?” he asks softly.

“Well, with the Death Eaters breaking out of Azkaban…he’s plotting another war, isn’t he?” I purse my lips and look into his eyes. He doesn’t seem fazed by the question.

“I think he might be…but I’m not completely sure,” Draco whispers.

I take a slow, deep breath. “I hear that many of his followers come from Slytherin,” I say. “Is that true?”

“Yes, You-Know-Who himself came from Slytherin. In the First Wizarding War, he promised to make wizards more important in society, put Muggles in their place, as well as Mudbloods and blood traitors. Most of his followers came from Slytherin because that’s what most of us believe: pure-blooded wizards are above everyone else.” He absentmindedly rubs the back of my hand with his thumb.

“So…do you think he’ll try again to turn the Slytherins?” I ask. Now that I’ve brought it up, I don’t want to stop talking about it. I want all of my questions answered.

“He might. But he’s unpredictable. I mean, he came back from the dead, right?” Draco answers.

“If he does, are…will you…how will you side?”

His thumb freezes. He looks into my eyes. “I…I haven't thought about it honestly.”

We’re silent for another few minutes. “What do you think of him?”

“Well,” he begins, “I fear him, as I think anyone with any sense should. He’s powerful…and a great wizard.” His hand trembles slightly. “And…well, my family has always had a connection to him. My aunt is a Death Eater…”

“But what will _you_ do?” I prod.

He swallows. “I’ll try to stay…as far away from him as possible…I don’t know much about his followers…but I know that if you fail him…bad things happen. I’m not so sure I want to get mixed up in that…” He looks into the fire; the flames dance in his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“Would you believe me…if I told you that it was his followers…who have been hunting me?” I ask quietly.

His eyes dart to me. “What?” The same panic I have felt since I was ten is reflected in his voice. “Wh-why would…but…why?”

“I don’t know…” I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. Now I’m wishing I would have backed out of the conversation earlier.

“But you said they’ve been hunting you since you were ten, right?” he asks quickly.

“Yes.”

“Then they must have been acting on their own accord, right?” He sounds like he is trying to comfort himself just as much as he is trying to comfort me. “So it couldn’t be You-Know-Who who wants you, could it? He’s only just returned. Maybe…maybe they _were_ his followers, but maybe they weren’t working under his orders?”

I don’t have the heart to tell him that he is completely wrong. I smile. “You’re probably right.”

“And now that he is back, he probably has them doing other things…” He smiles at me, but it looks like a forced smile. “You’ll be fine.” He scoots across the floor and pulls me close to him. I rest my head against his chest.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“While you’re here, no one can harm you,” Draco reassures me quietly. “The charms around Hogwarts are magnificent. And as much as my father and I hate to admit it, Dumbledore is a very powerful wizard, as are most of the professors.” He runs his hand through my hair. “My mother and father are quite skilled as well, so Christmas shouldn’t be a problem. And while we’re outside the Hogwarts grounds, I won’t leave your side. Nothing’s going to harm you, Charlotte,” he kisses the top of my head, “I’ll do everything I can to protect you. And I’ll get as many people to help me as necessary.”

I don’t know how much time passes after that, but we eventually go back to our dorms. I hate saying goodnight to him, but we’re both so tired that no conversation would pass between us anyway. He kisses me swiftly on the lips before I ascend the stairs and go to bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

 

I enter the Room of Requirement for the last time until we return to Hogwarts from the holidays. The thought of it being my last time for weeks brings an awful sadness that I have not felt in while. I enjoy being part of the D.A.; it gives me a sense of purpose. Perhaps the confidence and the skills I gain from being a part of this will help me rebel against Voldemort. It’s doubtful, but I can hope.

Ron glares at me when he sees me, and I realize that although I apologized to Fred and George, I didn’t apologize to Ron and Harry.

Today, we are reviewing what we’ve already learned, to which the blond-headed boy (whose name I now know to be Zacharias Smith) shouts out, “We’re not learning anything new? If I had known that, I wouldn’t have come…”

“We’re all really sorry Harry didn’t tell you, then,” Fred says quite seriously.

“We can practice in pairs,” Harry says. “We’ll start with the Impediment Jinx, just for ten minutes, then we can get out the cushions and try Stunning again.”

I laugh to myself about the review we’re doing. It was these very two spells that Snape and I used against each other before school started. I end up being paired with Fred Weasley, which is odd because he usually pairs with George and I usually pair with Lee Jordan. Between shouting “ _Impedimenta!_ ” at me, Fred chatters on. “What’s with you and Malfoy? You’re still with him? After everyting?” Then I’m hit with the jinx and frozen just like when Snape hit me. Fred adds, “The two of you are so different. Sure, you’re both Slytherin, but he’s a tool.”

When I finally unfreeze and cast the jinx at him, I answer, “ _Draco_ ,” it frustrates me that everyone in the D.A. hatefully refers to him by his last name, _“_ and I are definitely still together. We have our differences of course, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be together.”

Fred unfreezes, hits me with jinx again, and continues talking, “Look around, Charlotte. How many other Slytherins do you see in here, huh?” He looks around as if actually searching for another Slytherin. “You’re fighting with the other Houses, against Slytherin. Malfoy would die for Slytherin. That’s a rather big difference if you ask me.”

I unfreeze. “But I didn’t ask you, did I?”

That’s the last thing we say to each other before everyone starts working on the Stunning Spell. An hour later, Harry calls it quits. “You’re getting really good,” he says. “When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff—maybe even Patronuses.”

Excitement floods through me. I might actually be able to learn how to make a Patronus. I haven't tried since I made the non-corporeal one. But Draco has given me so many happy memories since then, I think I’ll be able to make a corporeal one.

I leave the training session, elated. As I leave the Room of Requirement, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan pass me. “Maybe you should have asked me,” Fred says, but keeps walking, “I would have told you how much of a git he truly is.” I don’t have a chance to retort because he and his friends are gone too quickly.

I stand there for a minute, trying to calm myself when Ron and Hermione come out of the Room of Requirement. They stop when they see me. “What are you doing here?” Ron growls at me.

“I…I’m part of the D.A., remember?” I reply, keeping my voice even.

“As your King, you filthy Slytherin, I suggest you not come to these meetings anymore!” he snarls.

Then I realize why he’s so upset with me. “Listen—”

“Shut up!” he interrupts me. “You’re no better than Malfoy!” He whips his wand out and points it at me. “Which explains why you’re dating him!”

“Ron,” Hermione says reasonably.

He ignores her. “And that little bit about the Dark Mark,” he says. “How did you know about that?”

“Ron,” Hermione tries again.

“You have to admit that it’s suspicious, Hermione,” he replies, not removing his eyes from me.

“I can see how it would be,” I tell him calmly, though I want to whip out my wand and attack him, “but you don’t know the whole story. So, why don’t you put your wand down, and I’ll forget this ever happened?” I spin around and begin walking away.

“ _Impedimenta!_ ” Ron shouts. I am hit with the spell and frozen. “I’m not finished with you yet!”

It takes a moment for me to unfreeze. Once I do, I take out my wand, turn, and shout, “ _Locomotor Wibbly!_ ”

But at that moment, Hermione shouts, “ _Protego!_ ” The Jelly-Legs Curse does not hit Ron.

“Letting your girlfriend fight your battles for you now, are you, Ron?” I sneer. Ron looks ready to fire off another spell at me, but I shout, “ _Protego!_ ”

“Stay away from here, you filthy Slytherin!” Ron shouts. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted!”

Before he has another chance to cast a spell at me, I put a shield around myself, thank Harry for his lessons, then use the Disillusionment Charm on myself to get away before any of them can stop me.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte finds an enemy in Umbridge.

Back in the Slytherin Dungeon, I find Draco working, again, on his history essay, and I take a seat beside him. “Where’ve you been?” he asks me. “I got back from practice almost an hour ago.”

That was a short practice. But I guess with it being so close to the Christmas holidays, the team doesn’t really want to focus too much on Quidditch. Without Harry and the Weasley twins on the Gryffindor team, I’m sure they think they’ve got the Quidditch Cup pretty secure. “I’ve been roaming around,” I lie.

Draco puts his quill down and rolls up his parchment. “I figure I should give you fair warning,” he sigh.

My heart very nearly stops. Does he know about the D.A.? Am I no longer invited to Malfoy Manor for Christmas? “About what?” I ask quietly.

“Well, the holidays last a couple of weeks,” he answers, “which means you’ll be with me and my family for that long outside of Hogwarts.” I nod at him, now even more nervous about what he needs to tell me. “And that means you’ll also be with my aunt for that long as well.”

“Okay…” I don’t know what he’s trying to say.

“I thought I should let you know…Azkaban had a great effect on her. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s always been a little…out there. But the dementors took their toll…and, well, Mum says she’s a bit…high-strung now.” He fidgets around, wringing his fingers and trying hard not to look away from me. “Not that she’s completely insane…but she may come off a bit…weird…”

“That’s fine,” I say in the best upbeat voice I can manage. “Plenty of weird people came through the orphanage…”

Draco takes my hand. “But…what I mean…is that she might be…a bit dangerous, you know? But as long as you’re with me or my parents when she first meets you, it should be fine.”

I smile nervously. “Well, I will make sure to stay with one of you until I actually meet her.”

“I just thought you should know…that if she goes off, just ignore it.” Then he adds quickly, “She won’t hurt you. I mean, she still cares about me and my family, and so she’ll care about you too. I just want you to be prepared for when you _do_ meet her.” He grins, as if that will comfort me now that I have been told I will be meeting Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Well…thanks for letting me know,” I say. I don’t know how to reply to all of this. He seems genuinely worried about me meeting his aunt, but I can’t really blame her for being a little…off…if Azkaban is really as bad as they say. I desperately want to change the subject. If Azkaban can wreck someone’s mind, there’s no telling what could have happened to my own mother before she found death’s release and was freed from that place.

He must see the look on my face because he says, “Let’s talk about something else. I just wanted to forewarn you.” He stands. “We have almost an hour until curfew. Let’s go somewhere.” He pulls me to my feet and leads me away from the Slytherin common room.

“Do you have an idea where we should go?” I ask him, taking his hand in mine and lacing my fingers through his.

“Oh, I have a few.” He cuts me a glance. “But I fear it’s too cold outside for us to go out there, and besides, we’ll get caught. The Astronomy Tower is fair game though.”

I laugh with him as we make our way to that tower, which is empty with the exception of the few telescopes used for class. I look out over the grounds of Hogwarts and find myself admiring the place again. Although Hogwarts isn’t where I really want to be, I admit that it is a beautiful place. Snow covers the ground, the moonlight bouncing off it, making the whole castle seem calm and almost surreal. The stars play peek-a-boo behind thin, rolling clouds. The Black Lake, now frozen over, looks inviting, despite it being ice, and part of me longs to walk out onto it.

Draco takes my hands and puts them on his shoulders. He puts his own hands on my hips and begins to move us to a silent song. His eyes, reflecting the soft light given by the snow and the moon, look grayer than usual…and more joyful. He takes one of my hands and spins me around, then pulls me back against him. “Can I tell you something?” he asks quietly. His eyes don’t leave mine.

“Of course,” I answer.

He smiles at me. “These four months at Hogwarts, with you, have been better than the past four years here without you.”

I wrap my arms tighter around his neck and rest my head against his chest. I feel him rest his head against the top of mine.

“And I know you were forced here against your will, but I’m glad you’re here.”

I look up at him and smile before pressing my lips against his, my heart beating rapidly, my grip on him tightening. “I dreaded being forced to go here,” I say when we pull apart. “And then I met you, Draco, and you made every minute being here worth it. These short months here have been the best months of my life.” I’m happy, and I’m safe, and I don't think anything could ever mean as much to as Draco making that possible.

He watches for a moment before smiling broadly and releasing a nervous breath. “I love you, Charlotte.”

The first person to love me unconditionally, and I can't even tell him the full truth about myself. I feel myself about to start crying. “I love you too,” I whisper.

He breathes a sigh of relief and kisses me again. “I planned to tell you over the holidays, but I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“I’m glad you didn’t wait,” I say quietly. I kiss Draco again, desperate to convey how much he means to me and how much I truly do love him, because I think I’ve known for a while but have been afraid to tell him for fear of rejection. He is the first person since Mrs. Stoico to truly care for me, and he is the first person who has ever loved me. If I had known the good things that would come from me attending Hogwarts, I would have tried coming here years ago.

Suddenly he freezes and pulls away. “Did you hear that?” he asks frantically.

We rush to the door and dash down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible, only to stop at the bottom and peek around the corner. There is a commotion coming from down the corridor, and Draco and I quietly make our way over there, lurking around each turn to make sure we aren’t seen. “Potter,” he whispers.

I creep around him and see Professor McGonagall escorting Harry to the gargoyle statue I know leads to Dumbledore’s office. Harry is shaking, the torchlight bouncing off his sweat-covered skin easily visible from all the way over here. Ron is with him. I can’t hear the password McGonagall shouts to the gargoyle, but they quickly head up to the headmaster’s office. Not long after, McGonagall comes back down and dashes away.

“I wonder what’s happening,” I say airily.

“The _Boy Who Lived_ probably getting special treatment again,” Draco sneers.

“He looked ill,” I point out.

“And instead of taking him to Pomfrey, as is the procedure, McGonagall rushes him up to the headmaster. She’s always favored those Gryffindors of hers.”

“But would she interrupt Dumbledore’s evening over student merely being ill? Surely there must be something happening,” I comment.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, if I were you. Potter might have convinced her that he’s worth it—interrupting Dumbledore, I mean.”

McGonagall soon returns with the other Weasley children, whom she then escorts up to the headmaster’s office. “Do you think they’re pretending to be ill as well?”

“I don't know,” he admits, “but I don't trust any of them.”

The Head of Gryffindor House comes down alone, and Draco pulls me forward, leading me toward the professor. We stick to the shadows and see McGonagall stop Umbridge in the corridor. I strain to listen to what McGonagall says, but I’m sure she’s lying. Something has happened; I just don’t know what, and whatever is being told to Umbridge won’t help me figure it out. Then I hear Umbridge call, “Who’s there?” I pull Draco towards the wall and flatten us both against it, attempting to hide in the darkness. “Who’s there?” her voice floats toward us. She’s looking right at us, but I could have sworn we were hidden well enough, out of her sight at least.

Without another choice, I go toward her, pulling Draco with me. “What are you doing?” he whispers to me.

“Improvising,” I reply quietly. Hopefully he’ll simply play along, because that’s all I can wish for right now.

“What are you doing out of your House after curfew?” McGonagall asks us.

“I can handle this, Minerva,” Umbridge interrupts her. She looks at us expectantly. “Well, answer the question.”

McGonagall’s lips thin out. I think she’s trying to keep something from Umbridge. “There’s an emergency,” I lie to the High Inquisitor. “We were sent to find you.” I see McGonagall’s face drop, her eyebrows raised in disapproval as if she knows I’m lying, but she recovers before Umbridge notices.

“By whom?” Umbridge asks impatiently.

“Professor Snape,” I answer swiftly.

She continues to look at me, waiting for me to go on. I don’t offer any information. As far as I’m concerned, McGonagall needed time, and I’m doing my best to give it to her. Finally, Umbridge asks us, showing great difficulty at keeping her voice calm, “Well, what’s happened?”

“There…there…” My mind is scrambling for a good reason for needing her. “There was a stray curse, Professor. It cracked the glass in the common room. Water is flooding in. Professor Snape is doing everything he can, but it seems that the curse…” I swallow, hoping Umbridge doesn’t see through my lie. “It won’t be easily fixed. He needs your help.”

“In the Slytherin common room, you said?” Umbridge asks.

“Yes, we must go there immediately,” I reply.

Umbridge looks at Draco. “Is this true?”

I squeeze Draco’s hand. “I…I don’t know, Professor,” he answers. “I was wandering through the castle…”

“But she said that both of you were sent to find me,” Umbridge argues.

“Well…” Draco seems to be scrambling for a lie, too. “Well…I…Charlotte found me and didn’t want me to get into trouble, so she said we were both sent.”

Umbridge glares at both of us. “Come along,” she turns and starts making her way to the Slytherin Dungeon.

I chance a glance at McGonagall. I shake my head at her, trying to confirm her doubts about my story. Although she gives me a stern look, she nods at me understandingly. As I turn the corner, I glance back over my shoulder to see McGonagall go back to the headmaster’s office.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to Draco.

 “No worries,” he answers. “Just explain it later.”

I brace myself for the hell I’m bound to pay when Umbridge realizes it was all a lie, but for right now, I guess I can waste more time, so I slow my pace with Draco. Umbridge hardly notices until she turns a corner and sees that we are a good ten feet behind her. “Hurry on,” she commands.

“Sorry, Professor,” I answer breathlessly. “It’s just that I was running to find you and am quite out of breath at the moment.”

She huffs impatiently. “You can rest when this is over. Now hurry.”

That didn’t help much, and Draco and I pick up our pace to catch up with her.

As we descend to the dungeons, Umbridge now just a few feet in front of us, I whisper to Draco, “Let me take the blame for this. It’s my fault. I caused this. I should’ve let McGonagall handle it.”

“You didn’t cause this!” he argues. “I was the one who suggested we leave the common room knowing full well we would get back late!”

“But I was the one who lied to Umbridge in the first place! You just followed my lead!” I counter.

“I’m going to tell her the truth,” he says.

I grab his upper arm. “Please don’t, Draco,” I beg. “I’m not even a real student here, so my reputation doesn’t matter. Yours does. Please…”

After staring at me for a few moments, he nods. “Okay.”

I lean against him as we walk. “Thank you.”

“I believe I have a dance to finish with you,” Draco whispers.

“I believe you do,” I agree.

Draco takes my hand. “Meet me in the ballroom in my parents’ house on Christmas Eve.”

“Will do.”

Sure enough, when we finally reach the Slytherin Dungeon and Draco speaks the password and the door opens to reveal an accident-free common room, Umbridge rounds on me, her face red with fury. “You lied to me.”

I swallow. I knew this was coming, but it still terrifies me now that it’s here.

“Both of you,” Umbridge says. “And you will both be punished accordingly.”

“Professor,” I reply, “Draco had nothing to do with it. It was all me.” I can’t let him get in trouble on my behalf. He starts to say something, but I squeeze his hand as hard as I can without drawing attention to it, willing him to remain quiet. He does.

“What were you trying to hide from me?” she asks coldly. “What was going on in Dumbledore’s office?”

“I don’t know,” I say truthfully.

Umbridge smiles sweetly at me. “Detention. My office.” I move to go up to the dormitories, but she stops me. “Did you not hear me, Miss Rodgers?”

“You said I had detention,” I answer, biting back my anger. “So I was going to get a good night’s sleep before I have to…endure whatever is to come.”

“You misunderstand me,” Umbridge says, her voice still ominously sweet. “There is only one day left of term. You will be leaving for the holidays tomorrow, yes?” I nod. “Then you are to come serve your detention tonight. I will not let you weasel your way out of a detention on a technicality.”

I glance at Draco, whose face has gone pale. “Okay.” I nod a goodbye to Draco and follow Umbridge to her office. I’ve heard a few rumors about her detentions. I sit in the desk that is already set up. She hands me a quill and a piece of parchment. “What am I to write?” I ask between gritted teeth.

“ _I must not tell lies_ ,” she answers. If the rumors are true, this is the same phrase that Harry carved into his hand earlier in the term. She must really hate lies. Or she knows that it is one of the more degrading things to have carved into your skin. It makes it seem like I lie a lot. Which, I mean, I do. I’ve been lying profusely since I escaped the orphanage, nearly at every turn in my life really, because it was necessary to escape whatever trouble I knew was coming. So it shouldn’t bother me to finally be labeled as a liar, but it does.

I start writing.

Each time I write the sentence, the pain intensifies, the cut digging deeper and deeper into my skin, the quill biting into my flesh and tearing at it, blood spilling out of me. I gnaw on my inner cheek and my tongue to keep from making noises of pain; I dig my nails into my thigh; I do almost anything to keep her from having the satisfaction of my pain. I just keep thinking to myself, “I’ve experience worse,” and it helps me get through it.

But just when I am about to scream out, when I am about to stop hiding the warm tears that slip down my cheeks, when I am about to give in and let her see just how much this is hurting me, I hear Umbridge say, “You may go.”

I look up, hardly able to keep my eyes open. I set the quill down and leave her office.

I struggle stay upright as I trudge back to the Slytherin Dungeons. If I thought I hated Umbridge before, I completely loathe her now. Detention I understand, I deserved detention. But torture? She’s completely evil. But I don't believe she’s a Death Eater. If Voldemort truly demanded my safety, she wouldn’t dream of doing what she just did.

The Slytherin common room, that place I once hated because it was not in a tower like the Gryffindor common room, welcomes me with open arms, and I nearly collapse with joy when the door opens and I enter its safe and warm embrace. Draco appears to be asleep on the sofa, but the moment door opens, he looks over and, eyes wide with horror, runs to me and takes me into his harms, all but carrying me to the sofa where he just was.

“It hurts,” I cry. “It hurts.”

“Charlotte,” his voice is panicked and high, “Charlotte, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“My hand,” I whimper, bringing it out of my robes. It’s crimson red, dripping blood, trembling so much I can’t get a good look at it, and Draco tenderly takes it into his hands. “Don't touch it!”

He shakes his head. “I won't, just…hang on,” he waves his wand, and a bottle flies out of the boys’ dormitory and into his hands. “I shouldn’t even have this,” there is laughter in his voice, “so you can't tell anyone.” He smiles and opens it. “Firewhiskey. It should clean this until we can get some Murtlap Essence.” Draco waves his wand again, and white cloth flies to him as well. “This will burn.”

He takes my trembling hand pours the Firewhiskey onto it. I scream without opening my mouth and quickly cover my lips with my fist.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he begins wrapping the white cloth around it. “I should’ve taken the blame…I should’ve served this detention, not you.”

“No,” I whisper, still trying to bite back my pain, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to go through this.”

“I don't want you to go through it either.”

“What’s done is done. Tomorrow we leave for Christmas, and we’ll be able to put this behind us.” He smiles at that. “Why are you still awake? It’s nearly five in the morning.”

“You didn’t think I’d let you come back to an empty common room and no one to check on you, did you?”

I close my eyes for a second and let out a silent laugh. “I should have known better.”

“Damn right you should have.” He ties the cloth tightly, apologizing again as I groan.

“How does she get away with doing stuff like this?” I whisper. “I’m not the first student who’s undergone this punishment, and I know I won't be the last.”

He shakes his head. “The Ministry of Magic has given her so much power…” He kisses the fingers of my injured hand. “But this…my father _will_ hear about this.”

Something tells me his father, the great and powerful Lucius Malfoy, won't give a damn about what’s happened to me. Had it happened to Draco, Umbridge would lose her position at Hogwarts before she could take a breath. But it didn’t happen to Draco. It happened to the annoying brat whom he hunted for years, the spoiled brat whom he very much hates. In fact, he might even find joy in my pain.

I can't voice any of this, though, because that will force me to expose more of my past to Draco, and though I desperately want to tell him the truth, I know I can't. It’ll put him in too much danger. And he’s just told me that he loves me—I don't want to lose that so quickly. No, I must continue lying to him—even though _I must not tell lies_ —until it is finally safe to tell him everything. But only Merlin knows when that time with come, or _if_ that time will come.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

“I’m just exhausted,” I lie again. “Perhaps we should try to get some sleep. We have a full day of class tomorrow before we leave, and I’m not so sure I’ll be able to face it without at least _some_ sleep.”

I move to stand up, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back down. “You don't want to be in that room with Pansy right now any more than I want you to be there. We only have a few hours left, anyways, so let’s just stay in here. Together.”

“I’d like that,” I whisper.

He lies down on the sofa and motions for me to join him, and once I do, he waves his wand and covers us with a blanket. My back against his chest, I drift asleep, more protected and loved now than I have been in almost all of my life.


End file.
